Benjamin Hotel Chronicles
by Joker is Poker with a J
Summary: Compilation of short stories from the Benjamin Hotel Series. Includes: David hiring the boys, Race and Clara making bets on their friends' love lives, how Brendon and Beth escaped Barkers, Carlos drinking away memories from Christmas Eve 1899, and the fight between him and Sophie right before Desperate Measures.
1. Race, Clara, and a few bets

_**Benjamin Hotel Chronicles**_

The betting began not long after Race started courting her. Clara hadn't planned for it to become an ongoing thing, or even something that happened more than that first time. Yet, it continued to happen; Race couldn't seem to stop asking, "Wanna bet, sweetheaht?" and she couldn't seem to back down from the challenges. It was a fun game between the two, stemmed from their flaws but allowing them to grow together, and Clara quickly grew to love this secret, shared aspect of their relationship. It was their thing alone, no one else was allowed in. She especially got a kick out of their betting as Race began to lose one after another.

The first time happened shortly after Eli's going away party. Eli, nicknamed Trout, was an old friend of Race's, a newsie from Brooklyn that he met before he joined the Manhattan newsies. He was a silent, hulking man with piercing blue eyes and although Clara had only met him once or twice before he traveled out west to visit Spot, she got the impression that he was a lost man who was looking for something. When she brought it up to Race, he had looked at her like she was a modern marvel.

"You got a gambler's keen eye, doll. Trout had a thing with this Park Avenue Princess, back around the time of the strike. She ended up running away and breaking the poor guy's heart. He's been mourning her for six years." He paused, "Found him with Carlos the night of his going away party, maybe he had the ol' skiptrace lookin' for her. Maybe that's why he suddenly decided to leave…" Race trailed off, looking just a bit contemplative.

Clara lifted an eyebrow, stuck on the title, "Park Avenue Princess?" She asked, haughtily.

He smirked, brown eyes warm as he tossed an arm around her shoulders, "Can you believe that? Everybody knows Gramercy Park Girls got way more money. That's why they keep 'em locked up."

Rolling her eyes, she elbowed him in the ribs for the money joke, but she knew he was only trying to lighten up the mood from his friend's heartbreak, "What 'Park Avenue Princess' might this be? I probably knew her at some point."

"Yeah, forgot you rich lot have small circles. Uh, her name was JoAnna...White? Witt-"

"Witten." Clara answered, almost immediately as an image of the girl came to mind. Sweet girl with huge, innocent brown eyes and beautiful, mahogany hair, JoAnna had been a quiet soul, often found reading or day-dreaming. Clara had liked her more than most of the girls in finishing school, but she suspected it was because JoAnna reminded her of her mother-too caught in her head to really pay attention to reality.

The last time she had seen the girl had been mere days before her disappearance, at a dinner party hosted by JoAnna's family. It was a night that was hard to forget considering JoAnna had made a huge scene part way through dinner. She had called Scott a _milksop_ right to his face, and then she had told him not to smirk at her like that, that she was spoken for. The Renwick's were not universally loved in New York due to their unconventionality, but they were grossly wealthy. Sean, Clara's father, had remarked that they were probably only invited that night in the hopes that JoAnna, also a bit of an odd bird among the upper crust, would find a place among them-preferably married to Scott.

At the time, Clara hadn't thought anything of that except that Scott-only sixteen, same age as her but a _boy_ -was hardly old enough to get married. But, JoAnna's outburst had Clara mentally applauding the soft-spoken, yet clearly feisty, girl. She had shouted everything at her mother that Clara had felt at least ten times a day when she was forced to learn piano, history, or a language she wasn't sure she'd ever travel far enough to use.

"Witten, yeah. That girl was somethin' else. Out joked me one time." Race shook his head in mock sadness at his loss, "Trout ain't nevah looked at any girl aftah her."

Sympathy for Trout and JoAnna filled Clara and she stepped into Race's arms as silent gratitude swept through her as she thought how lucky she was to be able to be with the man she wanted, "I hope Eli finds her."

"Don't bet on it." Race remarked, offhandedly, "I find it hard ta believe she'd be easy ta find aftah six years, even foah Carlos."

Indignant, Clara shook her head, "No, I think somehow, someway, they'll end up together. You didn't see her at that dinner party, all fired up. That girl will make her way back to him. I know it."

Race smiled down at her, "Look who sounds like her mothah." He murmured lowly, leaning down to kiss her lips.

A few days later, Race brought up the conversation along with the beginnings of their very first bet, "I was thinking we should make a bet on it, doll. If Trout and JoAnna end up together, you win...ten dollars. If Trout ends up with anothah dame, you gotta pay up."

She turned shrewd, green eyes on him, "What did you find out from Carlos?" She asked, knowing he wouldn't bet on something unless he was confident it was a sure thing. Which meant he had talked to Carlos about Eli.

He inspected his cigar for a moment, not answering her right away to make her wait in suspense. Finally, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot and he smiled at her easily, "Carlos nevah found JoAnna. All leads hit dead ends. She could be in England or down south or timbuktu."

"Deal." Clara held out her hand to shake on it, her gut telling her to make it even if reason thought she was insane.

Race paused in shaking her hand to stare at her, "Didn't ya hear me, Clara? She's gone, poof, disappeared out of thin air!"

"I heard you, Tony. And I'm still taking the bet. Now shake on it, unless you're scared." The taunt successfully got to him, but instead of shaking he pulled her in for a kiss.

That particular bet took awhile to pay off. In the meantime, they found themselves continually making bets up, from everyday things like Blink mentioning a guys night to whether Scott angered another high-class, society lady at a dinner party which Clara was forever winning because she knew her brother.

On the night of their engagement party, two bets took place. The first occurred rather early in the evening. Everyone had been well aware of the tenseness between David and Jack that night, and when Race and Clara had slipped away for a moment of peace, she anxiously asked Race if both their presence here would end in a fight.

"Maybe. Wanna bet on it? Two dollahs says they end up exchangin' fists."

"Deal. Kiss on it?" She could never get enough of the feel of his mouth on hers, and she melted against him as he pulled her close.

She won that one. As much as David and Jack despised each other, they cared for Race and didn't want to spoil his big night. She did catch Race egging Jack on a bit, so the second time they slipped away, she made some ground rules. "If it involved friends, you can't sway their actions with all your talking." She told him firmly. This rule helped her immensely come the next bet later that night as they watched Mush and Vivian slip out of the ballroom for fresh air in the garden.

"Vivian seems sweet. I bet her and Mush will work things out." She told Race as he spun her around on the dance floor, but she realized her mistake just as it slipped out of her mouth.

Race wagged his eyebrows, "Clara, did you just make a bet with me?"

She couldn't help but laugh, "I guess so. Do you think it won't work out, though?" Race had filled her in on Mush's long line of bad luck with ladies and she had never met any of them, but she did like Vivian. The woman was shy and friendly. Clara had caught her staring at Mush a few times in wonder, as if she couldn't believe he was so enamored by her.

"Mush is coming on strong and she's a bit skittish...I'll take that bet. Five bucks and we kiss on it?" Race asked cheekily.

"Tony Higgins, not in front of everyone!" She dodged his lips, attempting to avoid scandal, but Race stopped her in the middle of the ballroom and quickly stole a kiss.

Gasps sounded, followed by a soft applause and a whoop from the direction of Jack Kelly. Clara should have been angry, but she couldn't bring up even a mock scowl on her face. Instead, she beamed up at Race as blood rushed to her cheeks. "You're bad." She murmured as he led her off the dance floor.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Quick, while everyone's gossipin', let's slip away."

"I think the toast is coming up…" Clara murmured, but let him steer her out of the ballroom and towards the closest coat closet. She giggled as he fought a few coats to make room for them and then sighed as he pulled her in and shut the door, his lips immediately finding hers, one of his hands cupping the back of her neck to pull her closer, the other one warm on her hip. She wasn't entirely sure how long they were in there, but they both froze as they heard Blink's voice, muffled by the door but just beyond as he called out to Katherine, Clara's maid.

They didn't hear the exact words exchanged because they were said in low tones, but there was an inflection as though Blink asked a question, a quick reply from Katherine followed shortly by a feminine gasp, and then a resounding slap.

Race pressed his face into Clara's neck as he smothered his laugh. They waited a moment for the coast to be clear before exiting the closet, "How's my hair?" Clara whispered to Race, who reached up to smooth the flyaway hair.

"Ya beautiful." He said, his brown eyes a deep, pool of love and warmth as he gazed at her, "I love ya, Clara." She opened her mouth to reply just as the tinkling of glass could be heard, signaling the toast from her father. He laughed as he grabbed her hand to pull her behind him and into the ballroom. Across the room, she caught a glimpse of Mush and Vivian coming in from the gardens, faces flushed, eyes aglow. She was sure she had that one in the bag.

Trailing along behind them was Blink, the bright, red handprint an alarming contrast to his fair complexion as he gazed across the ballroom where she followed it to Katherine, busy collecting empty glasses. Clara thought ruefully that a bet between her maid and Blink was too obviously a losing one, she didn't even need to bring it up to Race.

She won the two dollars by the end of the night. A few months later, Race received a letter from Eli saying that JoAnna was in Colorado, was staying on the farm Spot worked on with Marta-once a Brooklyn Newsie herself, turned house manager, and now the wife of a rancher named Winslow Fletcher. However, the gambling man refused to concede either bet until both couples were married. When word of Eli and JoAnna's wedding in October reached them, Clara smiled smugly as Race handed over the money he lost.

"Beginner's luck." Which was always the excuse, even though they'd been making bets for close to a year. "I should really stop makin' bets with you. Out of all of them, _this_ was the one I could almost count on!"

She rolled her eyes as she tucked the money away. She had been saving every cent she won in a small, secret lockbox. It wasn't much now, but if they kept their game up, they'd use this money for something great. She knew it in her heart as an image of a tiny baby, bundled up in blankets came to her mind but she didn't dare hope, yet. They still had plenty of time till the wedding, after all. She shouldn't have insisted on the long engagement, but after her first experience, it made sense to her. Even if Race made more sense for her than any man she'd met before.

"Let's make a bet...if JoAnna and Eli accept the invitation, which I doubt, I'll invite Carlos." Race brought up one day while they worked on wedding invitations. It was a nice distraction from the tediousness of it all. Not many men would agree to help their bride-to-be in such matters, and for that, Clara loved him all the more. When she hesitantly asked if he would help, he'd looked at her with indignation, "Of course I'll help, it's my wedding, too!" As if he was shocked she thought he'd begrudge her for asking.

Smiling, she looked up from the one she was writing out and leaned over to kiss his lips to seal the bet before bringing up her own, "Alright, then if anything goes wrong at the wedding, you have to give me a private dance on our wedding night."

Race snorted, "Define, 'anything', sweetheart."

"Anything related to our friends. Jack and David _actually_ end up fighting, Blink and Katherine finally realize their feelings for each other, whatever." His loud guffaw had her looking over at him, "What?"

The Italian man shook his head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, "Blink and Katherine? Nevah happenin'. That woman turns to ice when she sees Blink comin'. I'll take that bet, sweetheaht. Ya finally gonna lose and if you do, you gotta dance foah me."

"Well, that doesn't sound nearly as much fun as you dancing, but alright. Deal. Kiss?"

Just a few short months after their wedding night, Clara sat at Monday night dinner in the Benjamin Hotel restaurant, laughing as Race complained to all his friends about how she always won their bets. He hadn't believed Skittery would get caught a second week in a row in such a disheveled, devil-may-care state like last week. Clara took all his bets, though, even if she wasn't sure she'd win and lo and behold she had. Her eyes landed on the ballerina sitting beside David as she removed her hand from his arm. As though she'd been stopping him from going after Skittery. She watched as David gave Nina a half smile, if you could call it that, and then continued to keep an eye on the new woman as she gazed around curiously at their little party.

Nina looked, for all pretense and purposes, as though she really couldn't care less to be there. Clara, having been raised among high class snobs her entire life, wondered what possessed the Russian woman to dine with them. Leaning over to Race, she whispered, "I bet Nina never joins us for dinner again."

Race quirked an eyebrow at her, his eyes moving from her green ones across the table to scrutinize the Prima Ballerina. "Deal. Kiss on it?" After a swift, light kiss on the lips, Race pulled back with a smirk, "Ya gonna lose, Higgins."

"We'll see, Higgins." She replied. It was only later, when talking to Vivian on the way to the restroom, that she began to have her doubts about that particular bet. Especially when Vivian pointed out the fact that David was making jokes, which was so unlike the stiff hotelier that Clara actually gasped when Viv told her.

Afterwards, she kept a keener eye on the couple, noting David spoke a little more than usual, his smile coming a little more easily around Nina, and Nina, too, was beginning to warm up. Perhaps, losing this bet might be a good thing if her coming around more melted some of David's frostiness.

 **A/N: This will be just a collection of random stories from the Benjamin Hotel Series. This is rated M, but anything M-rated (like in the next chapter) will have a line break and a warning for those who don't enjoy reading those scenes! Merry Christmas!**

 **Truly,**

 **Joker is Poker with a J~**


	2. Carlos-Christmas Eve M rating marked

_Christmas Eve, 1906_

Carlos sat at Moriarty's, four glasses of tequila in and still the scar on his soul hurt. He knew he should go home, Sophie spent enough time alone and she shouldn't spend the holiday alone, but he couldn't. There were too many secrets he was keeping and this one was the hardest for him to keep from her.

Besides, being around her in this condition…he'd never be able to keep from touching her. He wanted her so bad that it was a constant ache. Ever since she arrived in September he'd attempted to be a gentleman, to treat her respectfully and keep his distance. He didn't want her to think that since he gave her a home that she was obligated to be with him romantically. He didn't want their relationship to start that way. He wanted…He took another swallow of the burning liquor and ran a hand through his hair. Carlos wanted Sophie's love, whole and untainted.

But, nothing of him was untainted. Not since he was fourteen. The events of seven years ago rarely left his mind, but they were never more distracting than on the anniversary of the event. Snipes was the name Racetrack had called the boy, probably only a little younger than Carlos had been.

Carlos could come up with a million excuses for why he had pulled the trigger on a mere _child_ but none of them would pardon him. None of them would mean he wasn't bound for hell. It happened too quickly, it was a form of self-defense, but how could it be self-defense when one already had the advantage of a pistol? Fear, hatred, darkness, something inside of him was wrong and it was that part of him who'd gotten trigger-happy when a boy went to the defense of his friend.

He shot back the rest of the drink and tapped on the counter for a refill, the minute waiting for a drink bringing up dark images of that night. The way the blood had soaked into the boy's shirt and coat, Race's shocked whisper of, "No." and the following sobs of grief that Carlos only remembered twice before from him. When his father died, and after the death of his sister and mother.

Race had thrown money at his feet and Carlos, with his sense of survival still strong, picked it up, even though it was a grossly horrid thing to do when he had recovered enough to think back on it.

A few blocks from home, he'd thrown up violently in an alley, tears streaming down his face at the imbalance he had just caused within himself. All the things he'd done up until this moment, had nothing on the scar that kid's death left on him. Somehow, he made it home. At that time, he was living with Fox, his mentor of three years, and as soon as he stepped through the door, Fox's head had turned towards him and he seemed to have known something significant had occurred.

Fox Mulligan had been blind since Carlos had met him when he was five years old. He hadn't always been blind, though. It took a lot of time and trust to build between them before Fox finally confessed that he had taken a job from a lady to find her wayward husband, Donovan Mickelson. The man, however, had not wanted to be found. In a fit at being located by his wifes' hired skiptrace, Mick had his men hold down the hulking man while he blinded him; the 'x' slashes of his knife, now only silvery scars, were hidden by a cloth that Fox kept tied around his eyes.

To top off his maiming of a man, Mick had renamed his headquarters. What was once simply 'the Corner Tavern' became the 'Fox's Lair' in a twisted nod at the gruesome events. To make matters worse, Mick had hung up a sign portraying a curved, grey fox on it with x's for eyes. It had become a grisly sign of Dockside's twisted nature.

Fox would never return to Red Hook, and because of his mentors' past with them, Carlos refused to do any business with Dockside. Mick continued to try to charm and manipulate him to take any number of jobs, but still, he refused and Carlos was starting to see just how irritated it was making the man. To the point where he knew if he showed up at the Fox's Lair, that Mick would resort to beating him into submission. Carlos didn't go into Red Hook if he could help it. He had fervently wished for the entire gang to die in a fiery death.

He remembered the scrape of Fox's chair bringing him back from memories that were not his own, but to the night that would forever be seared into his mind; much like Fox's blinding. He didn't know how the man knew things by sound, perhaps it was more intuition than anything, but he crossed the room with the swiftness of a man who could see, and enveloped Carlos in a fatherly hug. Fox was the closest thing to a father Carlos had ever known, and in his arms, he sobbed as he tried to tell him what happened. As he had tried to use excuses that would never give him redemption, Fox had soothed him in a way that reminded him vaguely of his mother.

That only caused him to cry harder.

"Carlos. What did your mother use to tell you?" Fox asked, a long time later, when the sobs had subsided and they sat on the floor of the kitchen together. Fox was partial to whiskey and the bottle sat between them, the effects already numbing Carlos' feelings.

"She told me a lot of things." He replied, dully, reaching for the bottle and taking another swallow. The alcohol didn't burn anymore, that was just the scar from Snipes death being branded on his soul.

"'Life is about balance.'" Fox quoted, taking the bottle Carlos held out and tipping it back before adding, "I didn't always do good things, kid. More often, they'se were jobs that led ta people who were scared and running from a past they couldn't deal with. The one time I took a job outta kindness, ended in that basement. The last thing I evah saw was that cruel face, glaring down at me with golden eyes and robbing me of my own." He stopped, consumed with memories that just talking about made Carlos sick to his stomach, so he took the bottle back and downed more of the numbing liquid.

"How is that balance? Being kind and then cruelly losing your sight?" Carlos asked, wondering how he could still ask coherent questions.

Fox's lips turned up in a sort of grimace, "Hell if I know. But, maybe it took me too long ta do that kindness, after all the bad I did. Per'aps I shoulda been kind aftah every wrong thing I did ta even it out."

Carlos reflected on that, wondering what good he could do to re-balance his life. He took a hard look at the three cases he was currently working on, but it was the fourth one, the one he didn't necessarily count as a case because he was doing it out of kindness…Eli and his missing JoAnna. Eli was a newsie, like Snipes and Race. Perhaps helping him out, finding his girl, could at least shift a little of the balance. "I'll find JoAnna." He said, out loud.

"Huh?" Fox grunted, turning his head as though to give Carlos a crazy look at the out-of-nowhere statement.

"I took up a case for a missing girl in October. The guy's a newsie who doesn't talk." He paused in order to see the smirk that lifted up Fox's mouth, the skiptracer who was blind and a newsie who didn't talk. Life was full of things that didn't make sense. "But, I haven't been as heavily invested as I should 'cause I'm doing the case pro bono." Fox raised an eyebrow at the term and Carlos realized he didn't know what it meant, "Sorry, for free."

"Ya mothah made ya too smart." Fox muttered, causing Carlos to smile. It was something he had always been proud of. His mother had been a high society lady in Spain, so once she got to New York all she really had as a skill was her education and the three languages she knew. She used it, though, and became a language tutor to rich kids. But, that didn't mean she didn't teach her son everything she knew.

He lifted his shoulder in a shrug, thinking that it wasn't possible to be too smart, and drank more whiskey.

Current day Carlos pulled from the memories, finished his fifth tequila, set down the money to settle his tab and grabbed his coat. He buttoned it up with fumbling fingers and left Moriarty's to walk the long trek back to his apartment in the Toy District. He savored the frigid air that smacked him in the face the moment he stepped out of the smoky tavern. It partially sobered him up, which irritated him, but it was so cold that the sting of pain distracted him from his inner turmoil.

Young Carlos had thought helping Eli find JoAnna would absolve him of his crimes-but fate had other plans. Such as dangling that hope for redemption in front of him and continually snatching it out of his reach as every one of her leads dried up. He had tried to supplement the JoAnna case with other good deeds-including telling Barkers that he'd killed Race, not Snipes, and using the money Race threw at him to pay for Snipes' burial. Barkers had not been happy to see Race waltz into Keenan's bar in January, alive and well, and if not for Beth, Carlos might not be alive right now.

Still, Carlos stuck his neck out against Barkers for Race and his friends time and again. But, it was not enough. It was only until his moment of kindness to a crying girl that he felt as though he were close to his redemption. After it became increasingly obvious JoAnna would not-could not-be found, Sophie was a shining ray of light. He made good on his promise to write to her and they had grown a sort-of relationship that was somewhere between friendship and more.

She wrote to him in September, a letter that had given him far more hope than he deserved and one that lived even now in his pocket. He had sent her a ticket along with a letter that said simply, _Please, come to New York._

And then she sent back a letter with the time she would be at the train station, it had reached him the day before she'd come and he spent that day trying to make his apartment seem more like a home. It was desperately missing something.

That something, it turned out, was Sophie. The moment he brought her in, it ceased being an apartment and became _home_ in a way that he hadn't had since living with Fox.

It was passed midnight now, passed the anniversary of the homicide and hopefully passed Sophie's bedtime. He knew he couldn't handle talking to her about why he was drinking. She knew him well enough to know that he only drank when there was something bothering him. She knew him better than anyone did since Fox's death. He wanted her to know him more, but he was scared she'd hate him for every awful thing he'd done and every lie he'd told her.

He suppressed a sigh of relief as he entered the apartment and it was dark. Taking off his coat, he all but stumbled to the sofa that had become his bed since Sophie moved in and was just about to collapse on it when he realized someone was lying on it.

"Sophie?" He whispered, surprised she'd be there.

"Carlos?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily and looking too adorable as she did so. "I tried staying up and waiting for you so we could celebrate Christmas together. I musta fell asleep, though."

He moved to light the small oil lamp by the sofa and squinted in the soft light at her, taking in how beautiful she was even with sleep-rumpled hair, "I don't really enjoy Christmas." He told her before he could think better of it and he felt himself scowl as he realized tequila was a truth serum he hadn't meant to drink.

Sophie scooted over on the sofa and patted the spot beside her, "Sit down and tell me about it." She murmured, her voice silky and soft, a balm to his soul he didn't know he needed.

"I don't want you to hate me, _querida_." He inwardly cursed the tequila as he sat down beside her and she scooted closer than he would have normally allowed.

She brushed a lock of his hair back from his forehead and gave him a gentle smile, "Nothing you say could make me hate you, Carlos." Those words unintentionally cut him because he wanted to believe her but he couldn't see how they could be true.

He pulled away from her hand that had slid down his cheek in the softest caress. "You say that because you don't know what it is."

Sitting back, she watched him with wide, green eyes that were too innocent, "How can I prove you wrong if you don't tell me?"

Carlos felt a smile pull up the edges of his mouth, but he didn't think he had enough tequila in him to confess, "Sophie, I've got some skeletons in my closet." He said, hedging the truth.

Pulling her feet up onto the sofa and tucking them under her, she once again got close to him, putting her cheek against his shoulder, "I cleaned your closet out two days ago. I didn't find any skeletons." She joked lightly.

How was it that she could soften him up so easily? He rested his head on hers and felt his eyes slide shut, "I haven't ever said the words of what I did out loud." He found the words climbing out of his throat, needing to go to her ears. She shifted her body and it caused him to open his eyes and watch as she fit herself against his side, somehow keeping her cheek on his shoulder, and allowing her to snake an arm across his chest.

"Perhaps saying it as simply as possible will null the effects of how big of a deal it is." She offered, and he barely heard it as her fingers drew circles on his shirt.

"Yesterday…" He began, still watching her slim fingers make circles as he grappled with whether to say it. He thought he hadn't drank enough for it, but her softness combined with the tenderness and patience was breaking down his walls. Swallowing, he attempted to say the words, "was the anniversary."

"Of?" She prodded gently after a prolonged silence.

He could feel his jaw tic as he clenched his teeth and lifted his hand to look at it, still seeing someone else's blood on it as he whispered, "Of when I killed someone."

Sophie's fingers froze on his chest, her breath catching for a second. In the silence, he felt a regret as deep as six years ago build in him at his confession. Now. Now, was the beginning of the end of her and him. How could anyone forgive another person for such a sin? He wanted to move away from her, keep her at a distance, even as he felt every muscle tense and freeze him in place.

Slowly, her hand started to slide away from him and she lifted her head out from under his. But, instead of getting away from him, she put herself in front of his face, her hand reaching up and wrapping around the one he'd been staring at. Her fine eyebrows were pinched in worry and concern as she forced his eyes to meet her green ones. They were such a light green, with speckles of dark green and light grey. "Carlos, are you alright?"

The question caught him off guard and he felt his head fall back, "What?" He asked, for the first time ever completely dumbfounded.

Her hands gently cupped his cheeks, "I've lived in Chicago and now here. My father was a drunk and he tended to hang around the wrong sorts of men. I've met ones who have killed, who have preyed on women and children. I can tell when a man enjoys it and when a man did it because he had no other choice. You are not a man who would kill for enjoyment."

Her gentle, yet firm, speech made him stare at her in astonishment, "Sophie, I did not kill him because I had no other choice. He came at me while I was confronting another man and my finger was on the trigger and…it was a knee-jerk reaction."

"Exactly, you didn't expect it. It's not like you planned to, you're not a man who would kill out of spite or anger. Dealing with this must be hard, that's why I'm asking if you're alright, but don't think for a second I could hate you for this." Her sincere words and the ability to read how much this ate at him touched him in a way no other human being ever had.

How could he be rewarded with someone too good to be true, after everything he had done?

**WARNING-M RATED FROM HERE ON**

* * *

He tried not to question it as he slid a hand behind her neck to bring her lips down on his. She melted against him, her hands sliding from his cheeks to his chest where they bunched up his shirt as she clung to him.

He slid both hands down to her waist and she surprised him by straddling his lap, her cotton night gown sliding up her thighs as she deepened the kiss, a moan sounding deep in her throat. The months of him suppressing how much he wanted her culminated into this fervent need to feel her mouth on his, her body pressed so deliciously against him.

She broke the kiss to murmur his name, her voice throaty with need as he continued little kisses along the line of her jaw and then down her neck until she made a purring noise that nearly drove him insane. He gasped as she shifted her hips on his lap and he dug his nails into her waist to keep from losing control. " _Querida_ , don't move like that or this will all be over _en un minuto_."

Sophie sighed at his words, grabbing his chin and bringing him back in for another kiss, her soft noises torturing him as he felt the rush of blood leave his brain for an area decidedly south of it.

"I've wanted you since the moment you gave me your hankie." She had broken off the kiss to whisper those passion-thick words into his ear, causing him to shudder in pleasure as she then trailed her tongue along the soft cartilage.

Barely able to stand it any longer, he stood with his hands on her backside so she wouldn't fall and carried her to the bedroom, her soft breath tickling his ear as he crossed the apartment, "Mi amor, te he necesitado desde antes de conocerte." _My love, I needed you since before I met you_. He told her, gently laying her on the bed.

He pulled back and grinned when she made a noise of distress, "Don't leave." She whispered in the darkness, the moonlight glinting off her blonde hair lighting it up like a halo. She was his darling angel, sent from Heaven to guide this devil home. Except, _she_ was home.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he let out a dry chuckle, "El fin del mundo no podía hacerme dejarte." _The end of the world couldn't make me leave you._ He crawled into the bed, trapping her beneath him and kissing those sweet lips again. He was well and truly addicted to her.

She responded to him with such wild abandon, it surprised him. She wiggled beneath him, attempting to shed her own clothes as quick as possible and he felt another breathy chuckle escape his lips as he tried to slow her down a bit, "Careful, love. I must get you ready for me." He couldn't believe he was doing this, that he was finally going to do all the things he imagined, that she would let his filthy hands touch her soft, pure skin. She made him forget all of that with the way she fervently touched him, eager to explore more of the pleasure he made her feel.

"I'm ready, Carlos. Oh, I just want to feel all of you on me. I can't even explain it." She murmured the words wantonly, squirming beneath him as she finally managed to get her clothes off.

She couldn't explain it because she was a virgin. He sat up between her legs and she shivered as the cool air of the apartment hit her body and he was briefly distracted at her rosy nipples growing hard at the sudden cold. "Carlos?" She sat up, too, her legs still on either side of him and he wanted to groan at how lovely all her softness looked naked beneath him.

"Are you sure you want this, _querida_?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her to give her his warmth, but hesitant to touch her. Once he stole this from her, there was no going back. She'd have his heart and soul in the palm of her much smaller hands.

He was hugging her too tightly, she grew restless in his arms and managed to get her hands free so she could touch his body, wandering hands casting sparks along his skin. He felt the goose pimples rise everywhere her soft hands touched.

"Yes, Carlos. I trust and adore you. There's no one else I want, only you. Please, don't leave me feeling like this." She cupped him gently in her hand as she swallowed and said words he'd only ever heard when he was a child, "I love you, Carlos."

They were new words, coming from her and he felt the air leave his lungs as he grasped that he'd told her his deepest, darkest secret and still she said them. Still she felt them. Granted, he had other lies to tell her and they hovered on his lips, but he bit them back so he wouldn't ruin this momentous moment. "I love you, Sophie Thomas." He replied, tongue almost too thick with his love to get the words out.

"Then show me, please." She murmured, pulling him back down on top of her and he placed his hands on either side of her head in order to keep from crushing her small body.

"Podrías preguntarme algo y te lo daría." _You could ask me for anything and I would give it to you_.

She shivered beneath him, "I love when you speak Spanish to me." Her words ended in a moan as he found that spot on her neck that had caused her to purr earlier and he gently suckled the spot as her hands cupped him again.

He hissed in pleasure and let his own hand wander down, taking a few moments to roll a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a sexy hiss that turned into a moan as he did so. But, it was when he slid his hand lower, to her sex, lightly petting the silky blonde hair there before sliding one finger into the wetness that was already there that his Sophie froze before coming alive at his touch. She began to move her hips insistently to take more of his finger, her body already knowing how this worked as she moaned softly in his ear.

His other arm that propped him up dug into the bed to keep him from losing control as her sex clenched around his finger. "Carlos. More." She murmured, green eyes half-hooded in pleasure. He listened to her demands by ducking his head down to suck a nipple gently between his teeth. Her back arched at the contact and he pulled away from the little wet bud to breathe soft air onto it.

"Oh." Sophie whispered, body trembling as he moved to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment.

This moment was too perfect, too right. He couldn't fuck it up by spending too early, so he slid his finger back out and kissed down her body until he replaced it with his mouth. The feminine shriek of surprise and arousal she gave had him groaning against her as she immediately tangled her hands in his hair, her hips beginning to rock against his mouth as he tongued the right little button.

He listened to each noise she made, and when she made a particularly throaty one, he continued to do what had caused it, enjoying the simple pleasure of pleasuring her. She began to get insistent, her hands tugging his hair harder, her breaths speeding up as her cries got louder. He knew she was close, so he hesitantly slid one finger back inside her.

It was enough to send her over the edge, her cry of pleasure the prettiest sound he'd ever heard as he felt her clench and milk his finger. He continued to lap at the little bud, causing her to toss her head back and forth as she shook from her first orgasm.

Slowly, he slid out of her as she caught her breath, her hand going to her face as she continued to shudder from the aftershocks. "Is it really over?" She murmured, her voice a tad high pitched, but still managing to be sullen.

Carlos let out a low, throaty chuckle, "Oh, _querida,_ it is only beginning, my love."


	3. Carlos-August 9th, 1907

Benjamin Hotel Chronicles

 **August 9th, 1907**

Carlos went about his day as usual, trying to ignore the hole being burned in his pocket by the two items currently jostling around in there. One was a ring he'd bought for Sophie months ago, a symbol of his everlasting love and commitment to her. The other was Race's wedding invitation. A reminder of all the lies and demons in his past that kept him from truly being with Sophie.

One item kept him from the dark existence he'd been in since his mother died, the other could throw him in deeper than he'd ever been in. Unfortunately, he knew that he could not run from his past and lies forever; knew that at some point, Sophie would discover the truth of who he was. Of _what_ he was. Still, he held onto her and the light she shined on his life, but in his mind, he could see the darkness he carried beginning to taint her light rather than it chase his darkness away. The time for sharing his demons with her was going to come all too soon. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

It was just past three in the afternoon when he left the building where he was negotiating the lease of a small office space and his feet decided to carry him in the direction of Gramercy Park rather than home. He knew the reception would be well underway so, he let it. His soul was more comfortable with chaos than peace, anyway.

A dark part of him, the part that had killed an innocent kid and been the reason for the death of his mentor, wanted to see Race happy with Clara. Wanted to witness Race out of Sophie's reach in the unlikely event she still held feelings for him.

He wanted to see what a real, honest relationship looked like.

He crept through the darkest part of the Renwick's gardens, the trees and manicured topiary so tall that it blocked the rays of the summer sun and kept things cool. He paused, briefly, as he caught sight of a hedge shaped into a Squirrel surrounded by lions and the strangeness of it caused a chuckle to escape. Shaking his head, he continued to creep through the shadowy parts, staying away from everyone else, away from the laughter and revelry. Finally, he picked a shadow from which he could see the entire setup, the tables of guests, the dance floor, and the buffet of food. The bride looked beautiful in her wedding dress and Carlos was sure he'd never seen Race as happy as when he spun her on the dance floor.

For a long time, he only watched the newlyweds. But, at some point, he started to pick out different guests. Some strangers, some familiar. David Jacobs, owner of the Benjamin Hotel. Jack Kelly, David's bitter enemy and the man Race went to Chicago to find. As his eyes traveled over the bridal party, the Renwick family, and the guests, he felt as though he in turn was being watched. Prickles of awareness danced up his neck and he turned to see someone approaching him.

It took a second to recognize the face he remembered as more boyish than the hardened man that stopped in front of him, even though he had only seen him a year or so ago. His blue eyes were as piercing as ever, but more vibrant as he glanced back at the table he had just left.

Carlos followed that glance back and was startled to see the mature, lively face of a woman whose image was frozen at sixteen in his mind. The girl in the photograph he could never seem to find, despite the numerous leads he followed on her. At every turn, when he got close to finding her, she slipped out of his reach.

He had assumed she would always be out of Eli's reach.

Perhaps it was only his own reach. He had attempted her case only for his own selfish redemption and failed. Not finding her, not doing that kindness for Eli, meant he'd never make up for Snipes' death. He would never balance the life he took by giving someone else back their own.

Racetrack could grudgingly forgive Carlos, but he could not forgive himself.

"Eli." He greeted as the broad-shouldered man sidled up beside him, "Looks like you found her."

Eli's keen, azule eyes didn't miss the slight bitterness, but he did not comment, only replied softy with well-chosen words, "Mmmhmmm. I ffffound her." He looked over to his JoAnna and beamed with such love and pride, Carlos wanted to look away.

Instead, he stared mesmerized as jealousy, at not only Race's happiness but Eli's as well, clawed through his heart. Last year, when he had told Eli he was giving up, that JoAnna was lost even to his abilities, he'd felt pity for him. He had been secure that he had his Sophie and that Eli's JoAnna could not be found.

Eli turned back to him, his head turning swiftly and his blue eyes pinning Carlos to where he stood as he asked, "Are you al-alright, 'Los?" Eli had a way of wearing his heart on his sleeve and the open concern was disconcerting; one he had only seen directed at him from a handful of people.

"I'll be fine." He replied, automatically before his gaze slid away as that ice-cold fury settled in the pit of his stomach. The need for alcohol to burn his insides made his fingers twitch as he tried to add as sincerely as he could given his black mood, "When I am, I insist on meeting your JoAnna. The only woman to skip out on New York's greatest skip trace."

"I think s-s-someone else has to call you that. I d-don't think you can give it t-to yourself." Eli spoke softly, gentle humor coaxing a brief smile from Carlos.

"Modesty was more your trait than mine." Carlos quipped, before his eyes slid back to the wedding and he watched Race and Clara kiss because the clinking of the glasses dictated it.

Eli cleared his throat, readying to tell Carlos something, and the Spaniard's eyes trailed back to the ex-newsie and he waited for the man to speak. Rubbing the back of his neck, Eli spoke softy, "S-she changed her name. In Wichita. P-poppy Bennet." He paused before adding, "Mmmarta used to call her poppet."

Eli knew that Wichita was where the trail always ended. Carlos felt his neck get hot with irritation and his shoulders tensed as he inwardly berated himself, but outwardly he tried-and perhaps failed-to give him a look of sheepishness. "Is that so?" He asked, voice calm as he recalled that Bennet was the surname of JoAnna's favorite literary character. He could all but hear Fox's reprimands to always, _always_ look into every detail concerning a person's favorite things. The familiar, beloved details always gave someone away.

To miss such a singularly small point, to be denied his redemption by such a small oversight, brought a wave of utter revulsion and he managed, somehow, to force the next words out and add some semblance of sincerity to it, "I'm glad you're finally at peace, friend. Perhaps the bird could only be caught by the fish. Excuse me." He moved away without waiting for a reply from the man who used to be silent. Eli was too perceptive and Carlos did not want anyone to see him fall into the pit that he teetered along.

Something about Race being happy had tipped the balance within Carlos. Add to that the unexpected meeting with Eli and seeing him with JoAnna, the one person he'd wanted to find, but had forever eluded him, sent him reeling over into the darkness.

* * *

He all but stumbled up each flight of stairs, cursing himself for renting an apartment up four damn floors, but stopping once he reached the top of the steps to gaze down the hall at his door. Behind it, Sophie was there. Good, pure, too-decent-for-him Sophie Thomas. His fists clenched as her face came to mind, self-loathing drowning him as he realized he'd pretty much conned her into coming to live with him. He'd used lies and deceit to get her here and he knew, right there on the surface of his murky soul, that she deserved better. Better than him.

Carlos used every bit of self-control to steel himself as the large amount of tequila that had lovingly burned his throat on the way down now soured in his stomach. It was fitting that the liquor turned on him, as he felt the bitter part of himself egg him to fight with her. To confess his lies, and his deceit. He could feel that it would only truly be satisfied when it chased her away.

A flash came to mind of the day he picked her up at the train station, the first time he'd seen her in nine months since they started exchanging letters. She got off the train, only one suitcase in her hand, her soft, green eyes flitting across the crowd. For a moment, he just watched her, could see the panic rise in her at being in New York, all alone, with no one at the train station. He found himself pushing through the crowd to get to her.

She saw him.

Time stopped and froze for a second as he reached her. They stared at each other, somewhere along the lines their letters had changed, morphed into love letters. Two people, with no one else in the world, had found each other. She had gazed up at him, her smile small, wavering, as though she wasn't sure he'd be happy to see her. Without much thought, he had wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, spinning her with all the particles of himself that was thrilled to have her here. With him.

Now, he banished the memory, tried not to think of his love for her. His want, desire, fascination with this creature who had been living with him for almost a year and who, still, did not truly know the monster she shared a home with.

It was time.

Though the liquor still clouded his brain, he forced his limbs to obey him. He turned the door knob and pushed it open, ignoring how she lit up as he walked through the door. He kept his face tightly controlled as she moved across the apartment to greet him and he quickly asked her a question that would keep her at a distance, "Do you want to know where I was, _Querida_?" He asked, relief flowing through him when she paused half way across the room.

But, then she approached him with a tender smile, "Like you ever tell me, anyway." Her voice was light with humor as she used her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, pausing when she caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath.

She knew he rarely drank except for the occasions that caused memories to swarm him to the point where he needed alcohol to forget them. "I was at Race's wedding." He bit the words out, the self-destructive part of him overwhelming the part of him that wanted to keep Sophie. Because he could no longer keep her ignorant, she needed all the truth out on the table and to decide for herself whether he was worth it to her.

He ignored the inner voice that told him she would never choose him as Sophie stumbled over the words he'd just said, "Race's..."

"Wedding." He finished, watching her face for any signs of a broken heart.

Her eyebrows pinched together, "Wasn't he already..."

"Married?" Once more, he completed her sentence, paused as he watched her face grapple with this new knowledge and then he answered her question, "No."

Her green eyes sought his, "But, he said...and you never told me..." She backed up until she found the closest chair and sat heavily in it, her face pinched with confusion and growing irritation as she finally looked at him, "You lied to me?"

His surprise at how quickly she got to the truth, the deceit, was hard to hide because he hadn't wanted her to reach it so soon. His heart sped up as he realized he was about to face her and defend himself, "I lied about a lot of things, _señorita_."

For the first time in a long time, he couldn't determine quite what she was thinking, her usually open, expressive face had closed off as she seemed to ponder those words. Betrayal and hurt were reflecting in her green eyes as they filled with tears, but she did not let any of them spill over as she flatly asked her next question, "What did you lie about?"

Carlos felt the answering anger to her hurt and he tossed his hat onto the table and ran a hand through his hair as he answered her, "You think I'm some kind of Private Investigator for the Bulls, _sí_?" He began pacing, "But, I'm not." His inner darkness was rolling through him, making his reckless and more angry as he spilled as his secrets to her. The slight loathing in his tone had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him as he told her the truth, "I'm a skip tracer. The worst sort of _hombre_. I lurk in shadows and find people for the bad guys, not the good guys." He found himself pausing as he ran a hand through his hair again, grinding his teeth as he asked some questions that had nagged him for almost two years, "Why did you cry because Race was married? Did you love him just from what his friend told you?"

He knew they were the wrong questions to ask as soon as the last word left his mouth. Her words came out biting, "I cried because I was in love with the idea of him, Carlos. I cried because I hoped too much for something that was killed by crushing disappointment that left me breathless and all alone…" Her tone softened when she trailed off and added, "But, then you showed up."

For that moment, she had him. The walls he had erected nearly tumbled and he felt the urge to gather her up in his arms, to caress her and hold her, assure her he loved her with every bit of his being...But, those feelings vanished in an instant as his demons whispered that they had won tonight, he must continue his admissions of truth. He couldn't half ass this, tonight she would learn it all, "I wasn't in Chicago visiting a relative. I was there watching Race and Clara. Clara's brother owed a lot of money to a _mal hombre_ who hired me to make sure they weren't skipping out on him."

Indignation and outrage lit her green eyes and she stood up from the chair and faced him straight on as she asked, "Why are you confessing all your lies now?" There were so few moments when his Sophie was truly angry that it only furthered his bitterness at what he'd caused tonight.

Clenching his fists, he tried to think of words that would make her see him clearly, while the good part of him, if there was still a good part of him, tried to wrestle back the ones that could end them irrevocably. "You need to know the monster you live with, _chica ingenua."_

She flinched at the word monster and opened her mouth to dispute him, but suddenly thought better of it and instead asked, "What does that mean?"

The words were tumbling out before he could stop them, "Naïve girl. You know nothing of the world. You took a ticket from a man you met once and jumped on a train to come live with him, not even aware you were coming to live right in the den of the dragon, _princesa_." He said them so quickly, not so much furiously, and he paused to catch his breath as a sudden, stark coldness consumed him. He could see clearly. Could see a future where she left, as his father had left his mother, and he cursed himself because he had known, all along, that in the end he'd be alone. He'd had brief periods of that loneliness, when his mother died and Race left and before Fox took him in...after Fox died...and now the arc of life without Sophie. Enmity of his own self filled him when he realized just how worthless he was. Finally, he said words that he wasn't sure would burn this bridge, but at least it would damage it's foundation, "You came here looking for a family and you found _nothing._ "

Carlos Alejandro Fuentes left without waiting for a reply. He didn't want to see the woman he loved realize his words were the truth. He wanted to drown himself in more tequila, to burn away the scars on his soul-to burn himself away completely.

* * *

" _Sana, sana, Colita de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañara._ " Softly, Carlos found himself singing a Spanish song from his childhood that his mother used to sing to him when he got hurt. It had gotten stuck in his head at some point in the bar he stopped at and so he just sang it over and over as he made his way to the Benjamin. " _Sana, sana, Colita de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañara." Heal, heal, frogtail. If you do not heal today, it will heal tomorrow._

He had nowhere else to go. He had no family and his only other friend was celebrating his wedding night with his bride. As he should. Still, that left only one other person in New York, besides the woman he just pissed off, who _might_ give a damn. He wasn't exactly sure what would happen if he turned him away, so Carlos desperately hoped Eli's kindness wouldn't let him.

" _Sana, sana, Colita de rana._." He sang the words again as he climbed the stairs to the suite Eli and JoAnna were staying in. It was sometime after three in the morning, so he wasn't expecting a happy Eli to answer as he knocked on the door. It took a few minutes for his knock to rouse the man, but finally the door opened to show a very dangerous, grumpy Eli Cooper.

"'Los. W-what…"

"Eli, old friend!" Carlos' tone must have been too loud because Eli slapped his hand on his mouth and dragged him out of the hall and into the suite. Eli shut the door quietly, shushing Carlos as he let him go, hesitantly, to make sure he was actually going to be quiet.

Carlos held his hands up, mimicking Eli's shushing noise and then, in what he thought was a whisper, "Why are we whispering? Oh, JoAnna!" Carlos looked around as if Jo would be sleeping in the sitting room of the suite, "Sorry." He mumbled, in what he assumed was her direction. When he turned back to his friend, Eli had straightened to his full height and crossed his arms, staring at Carlos with raised eyebrows. Questioning, silently, why he was here. In the middle of the night.

The Spaniard gave him a rueful smile and he tried to lean against the closest object, but instead he knocked the lamp over. Eli sprang forward to catch it, grabbing it just before it hit the floor and glaring at Carlos as he straightened it. But, it was too late. The door to the right opened and JoAnna came out in all her skip trace-dodging glory, a little girl on her hip.

" _Señora, señorita_ , please forgive my loud intrusion." He said, at once, trying to straighten his clothes and look presentable. Jo and the little girl scrutinized him and he took a moment to stare at them as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. The little girl was four or five…Carlos looked at Eli, who'd only been gone a year, and then back to Jo and the little girl. "Psst, Eli." He said, the presence of alcohol in his blood not allowing him to censor anything his words, "Ya had a full size kid in the year you were away?"

His question brought a slight smirk to Eli's mouth and he crossed over to Jo and the child, "Jo, ttthis is…'Los. 'Lllos, mmmmeet Jo a-and Rr-rrosie."

"Hello, Carlos." Jo's voice was soft, her deep, hickory colored eyes looking at him with annoyance and concern.

Carlos bowed to them, unsure how he did it without falling over, and then took a moment to decide what to do with his arms, "I didn't mean to wake the whole family, _amigo_." He paused and stilled as he told Eli, "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

The truth of the words caused a wave of nausea and he reached into his pocket to pull out the flask of tequila. He took a swallow to stave it off and then moved to the closest chair and slumped on it, unaware of Jo and Eli signing back and forth about him. Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath that reeked, even to him, of the tequila diet he'd been on all night, " _Sana, sana, Colita de rana_." He mumbled, the song still stuck in his head as he tried to right his swimming thoughts and put them into words. "Is this how it is for you?" He asked, his mind so fogged with alcohol and disconnected from his mouth that he didn't mean to say it.

Suddenly, Eli was directly in front of him-not angry like Carlos thought he would be-but, his face etched with deep concern…for him. "Wwwhat's i-it lllike?"

"The words are all swimmy up there and they just tumble out…wait, no. I guess it would be the opposite." He paused, thoughtfully, "The words are there, but the mouth is all swimmy." He was rambling, he knew it, but he couldn't stop, "I know, _amigo_ , I'm being ill-mannered for a man who is asking to stay here. I just can't go home because my _querida_ is mad at me and I may have ruined everything tonight just for the sake of ruining it…I'm such a _pedazo de mierda_ …"

Eli's eyebrows furrowed, "'Los, I d-ddon't knnnow s-sspanish."

"He said his darling is mad at him and he's a piece of shit."

Jo's voice brought Carlos' head up and he passed her a half smile. "Your Spanish is good." His eyes flickered from her to Eli, catching just a hint of jealousy in the man's azure eyes but too drunk to really understand why at this moment.

Eli's wife shifted Rosie to her other hip and gave him a hesitant smile, "It's a little rusty and I don't use it often. The tutor my mother hired after my first one passed away wasn't nearly as good."

He nodded, his thoughts growing nostalgic as his mother came to mind, "My mother taught the rich kids. One of her students liked climbing trees so they would sneak out of the house and climb a tree and she'd give her lesson there." He paused because he so rarely talked about his mother and once more found himself rambling, "I dunno why I told you that, maybe because I know so much about you, looking for you all that time. All those books he told me about. I looked for Jane Eyre, and Elizabeth Bennet…all the Bennets…why are there so many damn girls named Bennet in that book? I looked for Bronte's and Austen's, but you were never anywhere. Poof, gone." Taking a breath, he asked,"What was I talking about? Oh right, la trepadora de los arboles."

Eli's head whipped around to JoAnna at the first mention of the tree climbing girl and Carlos followed his gaze to see her brown eyes fill with tears and she sniffed them back as she stated, "Carmen. Your mother was Carmen." He watched her search his face as a sad smile bloomed across hers, "You look like her."

" _Estas ella? La trepadora_." Are you her? The Tree girl, Carlos said, smiling, " _¿Quién hubiera pensado que nos encontraríamos? ¡Qué mundo tonto y pequeño!_ _"_ Who would have thought we'd ever meet? What a silly, little world!

Jo returned his smile and signed something to Eli. Carlos watched in fascination, he'd always been curious about Eli's signing, and then she bid him goodnight and took Rosie back into the room she came out of. Eli watched her go a look of open love and adoration plain on his face. It made Carlos jealous, knowing how much they had gone through and still making it out together in the end. He hoped that this was just a hitch in his and Sophie's story, but he couldn't be sure and the insecurity of it all caused his stomach to flip nauseatingly as he sighed heavily.

But, a minute later, Jo came back out in her nightgown and wrapper and knelt in front of him and told him, with brown eyes that pleaded with him to understand that she knew his pain, " _Recuerde, querido amigo, su solución en no en su bebida. No se quita el dolor, sino que lo hace demasiado estúpido para notarlo. Usted no es su pasado o sus demonios, usted es lo que usted elige hacer ahora. El pasado ha terminado, fijo. Todo lo que puedes cambia res lo que hace con este momento y cada momento después de éste. Esperar hasta que estés sobrio. Dile que lo sientes y luego ser paciente. Personarse a sí mismo y ella también lo hará._ "

Her words dumbfounded and awed him, his mind picking through them so slowly, that by the time he thought he should respond to her, she'd already patted his cheek, kissed Eli good night, and slipped into their bedroom.

"Wh-wh-what did she say?" Eli's halting voice brought him away from the words that repeated themselves in his mind slowly.

His flask of tequila was empty, and while he was far from sober, Jo's words had hit a nerve that made translating strangely easy for him, "She…she said, 'Remember, dear friend, you solution is not in your drink. It doesn't take the pain away, it just makes you too stupid to notice it. You are not your past or your demons, you are what you choose to do now. The past is over, fixed. All that you can change is what you do with this moment and every moment after this one." He swallowed hard and then let out a bark of laughter that held no real humor, "Then she told me to shut up till I'm sober, apologize and forgive myself and that Sophie would, too."

He didn't miss Eli's smile at Jo's words, but he looked away and preoccupied himself with re-arranging the pillows on the sofa. "Th-there…there's a b-b-bed…" He looked up as Eli pointed to the second bedroom.

He waved him away with an arm that felt like jelly as he kicked off his boots and settled into the couch, "Drunk men belong on couches, not little girl's beds." Eli and him shared a look that brought a chuckle from the man who was sloshed, smiling harder when Eli only shook his head at him and tossed him a blanket that landed right on his face.

"G'night, 'Los, washroom is th-there." His friend's parting words were soft in the silence of the hotel room, a very different atmosphere than he was accustomed to. His home was four floors above the streets, but New York never seemed quiet there. Here, there was nothing but the turmoil in his own head and heart to focus on, which he'd been avoiding all evening. Yet, Jo's words had soothed him. Gave him hope that perhaps the argument, the lies, and his own feelings for himself hadn't completely annihilated their relationship beyond forgiveness.

Sleep claimed him, with hope twisted around his gut.

The vice of that hope woke him, fading from longing to nausea as he swam up to consciousness because of a weird sensation…a poking, jabbing feeling in his right side, intermittent and followed by a jumble of words and humming. He was laying on his side, so whatever was bothering him had to be coming from above him? His brain was too foggy to understand his predicament and so he hesitantly opened his eyes, his only view that of a light, cream and brown pinstriped couch that he was apparently laying on. Where was he? And why there was a strange weight on his legs?

Another round of the meaningless words, perhaps in a language he didn't know, and humming, followed by the occasional jab. Slowly, he lifted his head to see a little girl sitting on his legs, the sounds coming from her as she danced her fingertips across his right side and then digging into him on certain notes and words. He scowled, wondering where he was and why, of all places, did he have to wake up near a _kid._ The little girl's head rose from her concentration on her fingers and she met his gaze with green eyes that were disconcertingly familiar to him, though it had to be near seven years since he last saw eyes that dark, earthy shade of green.

He opened his mouth to make some snarky comment, though it would be lost on a child, but his mouth was dry from his night of drinking and his tongue felt like sandpaper as he croaked out, "Ya mind?" She stared at him for a moment, just watching him, and then she giggled and jabbered at him in a language all her own. His hungover brain couldn't begin to process what she was saying and he winced at her volume and the high-pitched squeak of her voice. "Alright, alright, I'm up. Stop the torture." He flung his arm out to wave her away, to shush her, and she stopped talking and cocked her head at him, listening to his words.

Sitting up, he moved his feet and watched with a small amount of satisfaction as she tumbled off his legs until she started giggling and he realized she thought he was playing a game. She righted herself and moved to climb on him, so he quickly stood up.

Except, standing caused the whole room to spin and tilt to the point where he saw no other way to halt it but to sit back down. Which gave her the opportunity to climb on him. He growled as she all but made a scarf of herself around his shoulders and continued to prattle and giggle. "Where's your adults?" He asked, glancing around the empty sitting room, recalling, vaguely, that he had went to the Benjamin in search of Eli. Except, when did Eli get a kid? He kept tabs on all the people in his life and this particular development had never been mentioned to him by any of his informants.

Soft voices were coming from the one bedroom, but they were too low for him to hear the words. Clearly, her parents were in there but why weren't they keeping tabs on their young person? His thoughts were interrupted by a slimy finger going into his ear and he jerked his head from it and leaned so she fell off his shoulders, "Keep your sticky fingers to yourself, kid." He told her, glaring as she stayed where she had fallen on the couch and giggled up at him. "Eli?" He called out, keeping an eye on her and all her gooey appendages. "Come control your spawn." He muttered.

The little girl was suddenly up and talking at him again, the only word he could pick out was her repeating 'spawn' and he inwardly winced. Was that a bad word for kids to know? It wasn't a compliment by any means, but she couldn't be more than five or six so maybe she'd drop the word before her parents came out and heard it. He watched her warily as she once more climbed on him and he wondered, miserably, what he did to deserve this.

"'Los, g-good mmmmorning." Eli said as he came out of the room, Jo close behind, both doing a double take as they caught sight of their daughter scaling him like a mountain.

He met Eli's eyes and he scowled as his friend tried to contain his smile as JoAnna outright laughed, "Laugh it up." He told them, before shaking the girl off him once more and asking Eli, offhandedly, "Is she Teddy's kid? 'Cause she has his eyes and the propensity to annoy me."

"Teddy?" JoAnna asked, looking inquiringly at Eli.

Carlos stood, to get away from the kid and to start picking his way to the washroom, and answered for Eli, "Ted Painten introduced Eli to me to look for you. He was a low brute in the Dockside Gang." He paused in the doorway to look thoughtfully at the little girl, "Must have been the last bead on a long string of mercy fucks, since she's, what, five? Must have been right before Mick took him out…" With those words hanging in the air and without taking into account the bomb he may have dropped on them, Carlos shut the washroom door and took a few minutes to bow to the nausea he'd been fighting since he woke, wiping his mouth after he was done before standing and staring at his reflection in the looking glass above the sink.

He looked like death warmed over. Vaguely, he began to recollect memories of the night before, the bar, the drinking, Jo's words, and most especially her compliment of how he looked like his mother. His mind stuck on that, realizing it couldn't really be true because his mother had always been beautiful in his eyes, and the man in the mirror looked haggard, tired, and…lost. He watched his face shift into a scowl as he realized he'd dumped everything on Sophie the night before and then pulled a move that was very similar to something his father did.

Carlos had left.

He was startled from his reflection by Eli pounding on the door, "'Los? You d-d-d-dead in'ere?" The handle turned and Carlos vaguely heard Jo scold Eli. Eli replied with stuttering that grated on the spaniard's ears, jarring his pounding head and irritating him further.

Eli banged a few more times, the echoes bouncing around the tiled ceramic walls of the washroom and only further antagonizing Carlos so he grunted at the nuisance to save his head from further assault. He leaned down to splash cold water over his face and to rinse his mouth of the bile and tequila, ignoring Eli as he hurriedly emptied his bladder. Eli sighed and leaned against the wall, watching him for a second before speaking, "You wwwwwwwwanna eat?" He asked. The thought of food, Eli's annoying stutter, and his stomach rolling caused him to groan and belch rather than answer the man. "What d-d-d-did you d-d-d-do to hhhher? To Ssssssssssophie?"

He met the bright blue eyes of Eli Cooper in the reflection of the mirror and he scowled as he replied, "I told her the truth. Why is your stutter so bad? It's like listening to a motorcar engine that won't turn over. Wasn't like yesterday, was it?" He knew the words would hurt and embarrass Eli, but not even the memory of his mother's harsh scolding's for being rude to others could reach the black mood he was in now. Nothing kind and gentle was inside him, no manners, only poison. He'd spit it at anyone, even his friends, if only to rid it of his body, screw the consequences.

His friend dipped his head and grinned at him with a look of shame, "Ssssssssee, thhhhhhhere w-was this b-b-banging oooon mmmmy d-d-door…"

"Enough!" Carlos couldn't take it, couldn't hear his friend blame him for this on top of all the other shit he'd done to fuck up his life in the last sixteen hours. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the pain there keeping him from focusing on the pain in his head as he bit out, "I got it. I woke you up. It's my fault, like everything else." He ignored the hurt on Eli's open features, glancing away just as the other man stepped forward, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him cursing from the washroom.

Grudgingly, Carlos took one of his clean shirts-though it was a tad big on the leaner skip trace-and obediently followed the family to the elevators. He pointedly ignored Eli signing to Jo, pressing his face against the cool, gilded metal of the compartment and ignoring the way the elevator's descent flopped his stomach around.

"Carlos, Eli says that Blink, the restaurant manager is the…" She paused and Carlos rolled his head against the metal to look at her while she read Eli's hand movements, "…master of big, greasy hangover breakfasts? That he has more than enough experience to settle your stomach."

He growled threateningly, but it sounded more like a tortured groan to his ears, "You're not funny, _amigo_." He swallowed back the flip of his stomach, closing his eyes as the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby and added a few, colorful words, " _Cabrón, que te folles in pez._ " JoAnna smothered a laugh and Carlos opened his eyes and followed them off, unable to hide the proud smirk that someone understood him. He could get use to JoAnna being around.

They entered the Benjamin Hotel restaurant that David had opened a year or so after the hotel and Carlos winced at the chaos of the place. He'd never actually dined her, but he couldn't remember a time it was so loud and disorganized. "Sk-sk-skittery!" Eli called loudly over the chaos to a waiter that Carlos vaguely recognized as he grumbled at the yell that thundered through his poor head. The clanking of the silverware and the occasional shouts from the kitchen when the doors were thrown open by the waiters only served to irritate him further.

Skittery, no doubt an ex-newsie like seemingly everyone David hired, walked over to them with a smirk that said he was enjoying the busy, pandemonium. He was tall and lanky, and just about everything on him appeared disheveled, including his dark mop of hair. "Heya Trout, you three need a table? I'll get you a good seat for the shit show!" Carlos passed a scowl at the waiter, who didn't notice as Eli grinned at him and held up four fingers before pointing his thumb at the Spaniard. "Oh, sure. C'mon. Right over here." Instead of leading them to the table, though, Carlos watched as he knelt down to greet the kid, "Heya Princess! Where'd you come from?"

Carlos wasn't sure why, but Skittery's friendliness was chafing his nerves. He hunched over as a nearby busboy hurriedly cleaned off a table, clanging the dishes so the sound cut through him like nails on a chalkboard. He swallowed down a bout of nausea as JoAnna and Skittery conversed about the child, who all but preened over their words and then eagerly took Skittery's offered hand as he showed them to their table and explained why the restaurant was falling apart, "Well, ya see, he might not look it, but Blink runs this place with an iron fist and when he don't show up for work and we gots to figure things out for ourselves…this is what you get."

"And you just sit to the side and watch it all?" JoAnna's tone was somewhere between reproving and amused as Skittery sniggered.

"Yup." He smiled brightly as he sat them at a table and seated Rosie with a flair of such open reverence, Carlos almost thought he'd somehow managed to be in the presence of royalty. He slumped forward, his head resting on his arm on the tabletop as Skittery left to fetch them a pot of coffee. He tried to desperately ignore whatever was going on around him; all the happy families surrounding him, mocking him with their love and acceptance of one another.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rosie walk her fingers on the table as she had done on him that morning. From his angle, he couldn't see Eli but he listened as Rosie talked in her garbled way. "Ohzie," She told her new father, and Carlos watched as she made her hands dance, Eli's finger poking into his field of vision and she told him "Ohzie lem." He grunted, realizing her fingers were her form of toys and he closed his eyes for a second before he opened them as Rosie reached for his hand but he jerked it away at the contact with her small fingers. "Eeyai. Yotz lems." She said, not even batting an eyelash at his rejection.

"Friends." JoAnna said, "Yes, Eli and Carlos ARE friends." Carlos rolled his head to the other side so he didn't have to see Rosie just as Skittery came back with the coffee and he closed his eyes to inhaled the smell of it. He could all but hear as JoAnna asked Eli something with her hands and he sat up and reached for his cup at the same time Eli buried his nose in his own.

JoAnna huffed with annoyance and Carlos avoided eye contact with them all as he sipped the bitter brew. He liked his coffee black, like his soul, because the acrimonious flavor paired well with his mood. "Rosie, do you like eggs?" JoAnna asked, and Carlos hid a smile with another gulp of coffee as the girl only shrugged in response.

"I won't." JoAnna's sharp, firm two words brought his head up to look between her and Eli.

"You won't what?" Carlos asked, setting his coffee mug down to eye the glass of water in front of him.

"Talk for him, since you said something and now he won't. He's being a big baby and I'm not playing along." JoAnna's words came as she stared down her husband, her eyes narrowing slightly on him. Carlos' eyebrows lifted at the stare down, his inner monologue pointing out his apparent ease at wrecking even the happiest of relationships, and he reached for the glass of water and gulped it down as though he were trying to drown himself. JoAnna nudged hers towards him and he didn't think twice as he traded his empty glass for hers. "That should help." Her quiet words soothed him just a bit as he finished off the water and she added, "couple more of those and something in your stomach and you'll be good as new." He didn't miss the way her gaze turned distant and her nose and eyebrows scrunched up, but he turned his eyes away as Elie took her hand and pulled it to him to kiss lightly. To ground her in the present and pull her from the fog of the past.

Carlos felt a small wave of relief at the show of affection. He hadn't ruined anything, whatever he said or did, they would be fine. They would weather anything, had already gone through so much. He felt his hangover ebb into a dull, distant thud in the back of his mind and he sat a little straighter, despite the tenseness that still hung between him and Eli. He wasn't used to saying such cutting, blatant words-especially to his friend. When it came to being a skip trace, it was always best to know the right things to say to people. Add that to the fact that his mother would have beaten his ass black and blue for what he'd said right to Eli's face…shame swamped him and he swore silently to himself that he'd apologize or seek some sort of forgiveness.

Just not right now. He was stuck too far in his pain to soothe the hurt he was causing others. It was a vicious cycle that only he could break.

The food came and he all but attacked the hash and eggs as the scent of the food hit his nose. The greasy meat and potatoes hash soothed his angry stomach and he had to hand it to Blink, the former newsie sure knew the secret to delicious hangover food. Rosie's cooing and murmuring finally broke through his tunnel vision of wolfing his food down and he glanced over to see the strawberry she was admiring. Finishing up his plate, he raised an eyebrow as she continued to just stare at it, clearly having no intentions of eating it, and he reached over to snake it from her and popped it into his mouth.

He'd made a huge mistake.

It took a half a second for her to realize what he'd done and suddenly, she was on her feet on the chair, anger brightening her green eyes and flushing her cheeks as she screamed, "My!" at him. He stood up from his chair to put space between them, but he realized just as she launched herself at him that it probably would have been best if he had stayed sitting. If he had, her head wouldn't have been perfect level with his groin and he saw stars as he immediately crumpled to the ground, nearly choking on the half-eaten strawberry and coughing as the pink juices dribbled out of his mouth and down his cheek.

Not that Rosie cared as she continued to beat on him with her tiny, balled up fists, screaming at him until finally, Eli pulled her off of him and carried her away. "All that over a goddamn strawberry? She wasn't eating it!" He grunted as JoAnna knelt down beside him, scowling at him with severe disapproval that reminded, vaguely, of his mother. He struggled to sit up, his hands unconsciously cupping his tender area despite the fact that they were in public, the entire restaurant looking on in curiosity.

JoAnna sighed, "Imagine you're five years old and suddenly in a place where no one understand what you're saying, but you can understand them perfectly. They put you in a big room of other children and give you only enough to eat to keep you going. The other children seem to know immediately that you are a target, that you are at a disadvantage. You can't tell on them when they do something to you. So they start snatching the little bit of food on your plate and stuffing it into their own greedy little mouths every chance they get, because all you can do is scream. Instead of seeing that you are hungry and not getting your share, the adults only see you throwing a tantrum at every meal and punish you for being naughty."

Shame and guilt crawled up the back of his neck as she stared steadily into his eyes, "People finally come and try to understand you after you've been through this for four months, three different places, but it's all the same, the children are just as cruel each place. The new people are kind and really seem to want to hear you, and they take you to a strange place where you are woken in the middle of the night by a man who is then just as mean to you as the children were. He's gruff to you and makes the one man who truly understands you so ashamed that he won't talk, not even to you and then he steals the prized gift you were given by a new friend off of your plate and eats it without a thought, reminding you of all those times you were hungry."

He felt defensive at the outside perspective of his actions, but he couldn't apologize. It stuck in his throat despite the fact that he should. His gaze fell to the floor as JoAnna continued her lecture, "So yes, all of that over a goddamned strawberry. All of that over an offhand comment made while you were likely trying to drag your head out of the toilet and don't even remember making now that you're feeling human again." She reached out and hauled him to his feet, "You saw her before, when we were waiting. She makes up friends to play with a made up her. When he was her age he was beating up the neighborhood kids for calling him a dummy. They're incredibly lonely, trapped inside themselves; don't make me regret saying you could be around us. Don't be too proud, either, he will cut you out. Most people only get one strike with him." With those final words, she set payment for their food on the table and left him to there in the middle of the restaurant.

Carlos felt a self-loathing chuckle climb out of his throat. Everything JoAnna said was true. Except one thing.

He didn't feel human, not even a little bit.

 **A/N: If you wanna see this scene from Eli and Jo's perspective and see how Carlos makes things right with Rosie, read Wordy AF's story Return to Brooklyn and all her stories because they tie-in pretty well to the BHS series :D**

 **Truly,**

 **Joker is Poker with a J~**


	4. David Hires the Boys

**Benjamin Hotel Chronicles**

 _ **November 10th, 1901**_

It was nearly ten o'clock when they walked in, Mush and Race looking like they'd been sweeping chimneys while Blink looked furious. He stalked behind the two as though he were their mother and they got caught stealing and was forcing them to take the candy back. It almost made David smile, almost.

He was too surprised to see them to smile, though. He'd been so busy with the Benjamin that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen any of them. After his fight with Jack, the months that turned into a year and more that followed were now just a hazy memory of securing loans, investors, the staff, and the building. He'd been so overwhelmed in grief and this gnawing hole to fill that he'd thrown himself into this place, fixing rooms up himself, putting his own blood and sweat into the very foundation and once he'd open the doors to the public...well, that's where things began to plateau.

The Benjamin was just over a month old now. He was officially the youngest hotelier ever, confirmed when the World covered his grand opening, and finally, all that work was catching up to him. He was exhausted all the time, but there was too much to be done and not a lot of money to pay others to do it.

This first year would be the roughest, it always was for businesses of any kind. In a year, he would come out of the red, and start to turn a profit. Soon he'd be able to write himself a paycheck-after the investors were paid, of course. The plans of expansion, of adding on a restaurant and perhaps a grand hall to rent for weddings, all the ideas rattled around in his brain but were too far out of reach at this moment. He knew he could do it, was already beginning to see the pull his hotel was having over the wealthy, the famous, and there was a lot of talk about him. About the Ben, about how young he was, and the powerful men he had convinced to put their money in hands so inexperienced.

But, until then it was all up to him. The front desk, the complaints, paying the maids, and making sure the laundress did the sheets on time. Checking everyone in and out…

"Hey, Dave." Mush greeted him first, though he was far from the chipper guy David remembered from the strike. Him and Race looked tired and much worse off than just a newsboy who had hawked headlines all day.

David nodded, "Hey, guys. Did you get jobs in a furnace?"

Blink scowled, "No, these two dipshits thought it'd be fun to get involved with Brooklyn's gang problems. Nearly got theyselves killed!"

Leaning against the counter, David searched each of their faces, "Brooklyn has a gang problem, huh?" He asked. He hadn't been back to Brooklyn since his drinking binge there nearly two years ago. He wasn't even aware there was a gang problem, but David had only ever scratched the surface of the newsboy world. Not like the boys in front of him, who had all probably been orphaned since before Les was born.

Race sighed, "Had. Aftah tonight, they should be good in the crazy gang department. See, Brooklyn came lookin' foah help. I only let the boys who wanted ta go, go."

"Barely got out alive." Blink muttered, still splitting his glare between the two far dirtier boys. "I hope I ain't nevah have ta get word ya two've been in a fire again." He added.

"Alright, ma." Mush muttered, rolling his chocolate brown eyes.

Blink smacked him over the head and David raised his eyebrows at the anger that continued to seethe through the blonde man. "David," He said, meeting David's eyes over Race and Mush, "I been thinkin' a lot and I was gonna ask you foah a job. Now, hear me out." David paused as Blink said those words, surprised at their forcefulness. Kid Blink had always been laid-back and almost…jolly. His biggest anger fit had been when they found out the World had raised the price of papes. To see him here, furious and ready to defend why David should hire them…David stood up, folded his arms and nodded for Blink to go on.

Running a hand through his hair, Blink collected his bearings and then, seemingly in frustration, he whipped off his eye patch and tossed it on the counter in front of David. David and Race's jaws dropped and eyebrows raised as they stared at the hidden left eye of their friend.

"What the fuck." Race said, always the one to break silences, "First Trout can tawk and now I find out ya patch is a lie?!" Race looked at Mush, who didn't look surprised in the least and glared accusingly, "What's ya secret, huh, Mush? Are you a lady? Got any kids I don't know about?" He rounded on David, clearly having hit his limit from whatever had happened in Brooklyn and what was happening right here in front of him, "What about you, David? Is this Hotel a front for some type-a prostitution ring?!"

"Race, calm down." David said.

"Calm down! Everybody tellin' me to calm down, like Blink didn't just show us he didn't need an eyepatch. As if we all didn't spend the last ten years thinkin' he had no eye undah neath that hideous brown patch." Race grumbled and searched in his pockets for a cigar, scowling when he pulled out a broken one, "Calm down when I don't got no cigars and my friends are all liahs?"

"Hey, no one's lying to you, Race." David told him, dropping his arms and staring at his three old friends. A soft spot he didn't know he still possessed made him reach out and pat the Italian kid's shoulder, "Look, it's clear there's some things we have to deal with, but listen to Blink just for a minute."

Blink, the anger having faded at Race's outburst, sent everyone a sheepish grin, "I didn't mean ta keep it from no one. Ya coulda asked me. Mush did. I used it just ta get sympathy sells."

Race's eyes narrowed, "My mama raised me bettah, and if my Tía heard me ask you about it, she'd slap me ovah the head."

"See? I didn't know ya had a Tía, whatevah that is." Blink pointed out, his smile turning smug at Race's disclosure.

"Well, they all dead now, since we're spilling secrets…" Race's sarcasm made them all shake their heads.

"Anyway," Blink began, ignoring Race as he continued to grumble under his breath, "What I was gonna offer, Dave, is three hard workers who would nevah let ya down and who happen ta be ya old buddies from ya newsie days. I was just gonna offah myself, but I didn't like these two getting' involved with them Dockside guys and I know ya just opened an maybe ya don't got a lot of use foah us, yet, but we would be asses-I mean, _assets_ -to ya hotel."

David felt a grin toy around the edges of his lips and he forced himself not to give in to it. Blink's speech, and his asses/asset slip made him feel nostalgic for those days, not to mention Race's stink about the truth, and the brush they had with a gang gave David a lot to think about. "How about you guys go back to the lodging house, get some rest, clean yourselves up, and meet me back here tomorrow morning." David finally told them. In the meantime, he could write up ideas of odd jobs they could do around here until business picked up.

Blink, Mush, and Race all showed up first thing the next morning, dressed in their Sunday best and prepared to work. David was pleased by the willingness to work that they all shared and he showed them around the hotel. "There are fourteen floors, only seven are operational. I've been working on each floor as much as I can, but I needed to start bringing in money. Help me finish the last seven floors and I can pay you in free rent and a low wage. Little more than a newsie wage, but nothing to brag about."

David paused, looking at his three old friends seriously, "If you stay with me, if you help me make this place the best Hotel in the city, I'll more than make up for it. I just ask for loyalty and hard work."

"Awe, Dave, that's like the newsie motto." Race told him, clapping him on the shoulder, "We'll do whatevah it takes if it keeps us off those streets. If we turn this place around, well, that's a bonus."

"Yeah, Dave, and it really is already somethin'." Mush added, admiring the class of the hotel lobby. It had high ceilings, pillars of marble, and it was furnished in deep colors of red, green, and dark wood.

David glanced around proudly, "It was a beautiful hotel in its heyday. The former owner ran it into the ground. All it needed was polish and care."

They all looked around at their new home, Blink's eye catching on a door to the left of the lobby, "What's through that door?"

Grinning, David led them over and opened it. Inside was a huge storage room, spare beds, chairs, and dressers stack up and covered in sheets, dust, and cobwebs. "It's storage right now. I'm thinking of clearing this stuff out, putting it in the basement, and making this a restaurant. In a few years' time, of course."

"You had me at food." Blink said as Mush rolled his eyes.

"He didn't even say food." The curly-haired brunette muttered to his best friend.

Blink shrugged, "So? I'll definitely help with this, David." Blink added, glancing around, "The kitchen should go back there, where that door is. Ya need a service entrance for food and deliveries."

David smiled, feeling excitement for the future for the first time since Minnie died. "Good idea. Maybe open up that area over there, put some French doors out onto a summer outdoor seating area."

Blink was waving away the idea, "Nah, ya won't use outdoor seating half the year anyway, and summah's too hot. Keep it all in doors. Much classier."

They moved out of the storage area and Race pointed out that the service bells should have their own alcove and someone to over-see it, and Mush talked about expanding the front desk so there was room for multiple workers for times of high occupancy. As the four friends discussed the future of the hotel, a guest came to check out and Mush immediately took part in the process, talking with the guest about what they liked and didn't like. After they were gone and it was once more just the four of them, David felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

They were going to be alright. This was right and it would benefit them all.

"We should really go up ta the eighth floor and make a list of what needs done." Blink said, grabbing a pad of paper and a fountain pen, tucking it behind his ear.

David watched his friends, realizing they all needed this hotel, not just David. They needed each other, they needed a future full of hope, they needed an opportunity to change their lives. He felt humbled and honored to give them this chance. As hard as he worked to get here, for all that he lost that drove him to this point, it was all worth it. It was time to share his success with his friends who deserved this.


	5. Beth and Brendon

**Benjamin Hotel Chronicles**

" _She is not the one._

 _Your knees are too weak for her_

 _history, and those with no backbone_

 _will be weighed down by her self respect._

 _When you need easy, she will never be. A_

 _fighter, with a soft smile and sharp_

 _edge. I watched her live to tell her_

 _tales when nobody thought she could. And_

 _I knew then, as I know now, she is not_

 _the one. She could never be. Certain_

 _things defy odds, but are never the_

 _same. They grow wildly, and become_

 _untamed. And you won't know what to_

 _make of a black rose surviving on its_

 _own. She's your long way home, the_

 _sunset horizon, the city streetlights in_

 _the evening rain. She is love in the_

 _early mornings. And she is not the one,_

 _because that's not nearly enough. She's_

 _the spaces that fill in what's missing._

 _She is everything else."_

\- Jack Raymond

* * *

 _ **July 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 1907**_

Brendon Finnegan was a magnet for trouble.

He'd known it from a very young age, but it was at this very moment that he knew it was true and it could very well get him killed. Brutally, unforgivably, gleefully killed by a number of angry men. A _gang_ of men, to be exact. If he hadn't believed in his uncanny ability to entice any manner of trouble before, he most surely did now.

Her hand reached out and she set it gently on his arm and sighed with relief, "I almost thought you'd left me." A hot, summer breeze sent her curls into her face and she shook them away as she stood beside him. They had been meeting on this rooftop seven blocks from Keenan's bar for seven years, now.

If he had been smart, Brendon would have left her years ago. Except, most people didn't think a man of his size _could_ be smart and if he was perfectly honest with himself, when it came to Bethany Bailey, he never was.

In fact, when it came to Bethany Bailey, he might as well be a bug drawn to the light that would inevitably be the death of him. "Beth." He murmured, unable to think of something good to say. Something that wouldn't incur her wrath-which was as mighty as the Morrígan, the Irish Goddess of Doom and Death. Not that he was any good with words, anyway. Everything he said always got him further in deep water, so he found himself not saying much at all.

"Brendon Finnegan, do not start." She replied, her shoulders squaring off as though she was getting ready to hand him his ass.

He wasn't ready for her to tell him off, to tell him she didn't need him for this. All he could do was pull her to him and kiss her.

And just like the day he'd met her, she bit his lip and jerked back, "Do not!" She shouted, her words angry, like a curse, as she pushed at him. He didn't budge, not many people could make him move if he didn't want to, but he did step back. "I don't want you to kiss me and I don't want you to marry me just because I'm pregnant. It's not a good enough reason and I will handle it all myself. Just _go_." He watched her chest rise and fall from her angry words, her eyes stared off sightlessly, but he alone could recognize the fear she held. She shoved all her feelings too deep, she always had, but he knew where to look for them. They were there in the set of her jaw, in the micro-shake of her shoulders. It was in the way her eyebrows pinched and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the rosewood cane she'd had for close to ten years.

He didn't always listen to her bossy commands, but this time he did. Because he needed time to think. Think about her and the panic she was feeling, the sick feeling that you were not where you wanted to be with your life and now a tiny, vulnerable human was about to be your responsibility. He knew she had plans and dreams. Had been hearing about them for years and now…he was going to be the reason she might not get what she always wanted.

Brendon felt all of what she felt and more. He should have never done this to her, should have never even approached her when they were younger. He didn't want to be the reason she didn't become the next Bronx Gang leader, didn't want her resentment when all he could give her is a home where she'd be cooped up like a bird in a cage.

Instead of heading home to his sister, he turned in the direction of the Botanical Gardens that were deeper in the Bronx territory. Amazingly enough, it was the exact location where he met Beth and he liked to go there when he needed to think about their future. Which he'd done a lot. For years, in fact. Since the moment he spied her smelling flowers when she was fourteen years old, her eyes closed, leaning on that old, rosewood cane and her face all but buried in a pink, stargazer lily. He'd been just a few years older than her, and at least a foot taller, but he was knocked near senseless by the sight of her, standing there in men's trousers, a button up shirt the color of sage, and a black, silk ribbon tied around the collar of the shirt, basking in the scent of the gardens that were in full bloom.

It was late August, perhaps the hottest day of the year, and she looked as cool as the river, smelling flowers without a care in the world.

"I didn't know I'd ever see a girl as pretty as that flower." His thoughts were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his voice a tad wistful as his cheeks reddened. She jerked away from the flower and looked towards him, a scowl forming on her pretty face at being startled. He realized as her milky eyes searched in the direction of his voice that she was blind but it was nothing compared to the shift inside his body, as though his soul recognized her instantly as the very person he'd been searching for. In the grand scheme of the entire universe, this was his destiny.

At sixteen, Brendon Finnegan had fallen in love.

His mother had been a romantic, his father was a cheating scoundrel who lived in Ireland. His older brothers were gruff & tuff (nicknamed by the street kids of Harlem) and Katherine was the spoiled baby sister. Brendon…Brendon was the Wall. The bet boys made of who could knock the Wall over, the boy who was always too large, too imposing, for anyone to approach or acknowledge unless they needed to prove they were tough-in which case they would start fights with him. He learned at a young age that if he wanted people to stop fighting him, he had to end those fights quickly and scare them off. Girls were no better, taking one look at his height and broad shoulders and immediately frightened by his massive size.

His childhood up until this moment had been lonely at best, despite the fact that his mother had always taken special care with him, giving him extra attention when Patrick and Sean picked on him or left him out. They didn't really mean to, but they were only a year apart and Patrick was four years older, so the age gap left him in the center of a family with no real connections with his older siblings or his little sister, who loved him but who spent most of her young, formative years with their mother.

"Who are you?" The blind girl demanded, straightening her back and shoulders to seem bigger. He was surprised, too, when she changed her grip on the cane so that she could use it like a bat if he came at her.

Her defensive maneuvers brought a protective instinct so strong, he thought it would knock him over. He despised the idea of anyone harming her, wondering who could have hurt her for her to react so seamlessly to defend herself.

"I'm sorry to startle you. I-I just. Was caught off guard." He stumbled over the words, because they always got him into more trouble. Patrick could talk a donkey out of its hooves, but Brendon always talked it into kicking him in the ass.

She continued to scowl, her heart-shaped face pinched and angular, ready to chew him out for disrupting her day, " _You_ were caught off guard?" She sneered, her voice a bark at best.

He had a brief memory of seeing two dogs fight over a bone, a tiny little thing against a large, rough looking mongrel. The little dog had snipped at the big dog's legs, yapping and raising its fur to make it appear more threatening and the strange thing was that the bigger dog yielded. It laid down and waited patiently until the small dog had been finished and walked off before going for any scraps left behind.

Now, he knew why. Despite his size, this girl was a pistol and he was probably better off beating it out of there before she could sink her teeth into him. But, common sense left the building the moment he saw her.

"Uh…" He couldn't think of an intelligent reply; couldn't think of a damn thing he could say that would entice her to walk with him or to put down her hackles. "That's a stargazer lily."

His dumb words surprised her and he watched it take a bit of the edge out of her because she relaxed just a bit, setting her palms on the top of her cane and tilting her head at him, "It stinks."

Brendon chuckled, "Aye, I'm thinkin' they are a love 'em or leave 'em type of flower. But, they'se pretty."

Her head tilted as she listened to his voice, "Describe the flower to me." She ordered.

He scratched at his chin as he looked at the flower, wondering if he should attempt humor as Patrick would or be straight to the point like Sean. His gaze flickered to her face as she waited, the impatience beginning to show and she opened her mouth just as he found his words, "It's shades of pink. Dark towards the center and lightening until ya get to the edges, which are white as snow. The petals are wide and taper to points like knives, but curl back so the flower is open. There's five of 'em. Like a star. In the center are yellow pollen shoots that stick straight out, that's what was tickling your face." Instead of being like either of his brothers, he ended up describing it to her like he thought it looked.

Suddenly, she stepped towards him, her hand reaching out to land on his arm and then slide down to find the crook of his elbow where she hooked her arm through his. "What's your name, boy?" She asked, as she began to walk. He stood there a second too long and was rewarded with a swift hit to the shin with her cane, "Keep up." She told him briskly.

"B-brendon. Brendon Finnegan."

"I'm Beth. And before you get any smart ideas, my father runs a gang and if anything happens to me, he _will_ kill everyone you love." The words were matter-of-fact and Brendon smiled at how adorable she was. "Are you smiling?" She asked, as though she could hear it.

"No." He tried to flatten his smile, but he was afraid it was there in his voice and unwilling to leave his face.

She halted abruptly, "Brendon, if you're going to escort me around the gardens then I'm going to have to ask you not to lie to me. Or _I_ will kill everyone you love."

Beth would have to kill herself, then, because he already knew it was love. It only got better as they day went on and he spent the time describing flowers and butterflies. She seemed to enjoy the imagery his words painted for her and he enjoyed making her laugh when he used silly comparisons, like the way a purple orchid looked like tiny, hanging men.

Anything that he could see that was beautiful, he described it to her. At the end of the day, he opened his mouth, "Aye, this place is beautiful. But none of this beauty is comparable to yours, Beth."

He watched her fight the smile, a pleased look on her face until she caught it and controlled it, "I do not appreciate flattery." She told him frankly.

"It's not flattery if it's true." Was his instant reply. How could he woo his girl if she didn't want his compliments? He decided he needed another way to show her she had instantly tamed him. He stopped them out front of the botanical gardens, turning to look at her face as she chewed over his words, her eyebrows pinched together.

Some strange need took a hold of him as he watched her face closely and before he could stop himself, he leaned down to steal a quick kiss.

It would have been quick, anyway, but he hadn't expected her to gasp and then bite his lip. They both jerked away from each other and she nearly drew blood as his lower lip was pulled from her teeth. He cursed, at the pain and at the stupid move that was so obviously the wrong one. "Beth, I'm sorry!" He was apologizing before she even had a moment to collect herself.

"I said you bettah not get any smart ideas, did I not?!" Her voice didn't get louder when she was angry, but lower. Growly, with a thicker street accent. Why was it that everything about her only attracted him more?

He stepped closer to her, "Beth." The way he said her name made her pause, her eyebrows pinching once more in consternation and he would never know what went through her mind that day, but he was glad she stopped to listen, "It wasn't a smart move. I apologize. I just…got swept away by you."

Brendon didn't know how to explain it any other way. But, somehow, what he said earned him a second chance that would forever change his life. "Fine, I accept. On one condition." She told him, her voice sterner than a governesses', a breeze blowing her wild, untamed hair back from her face.

"Anything."

"Meet me here tomorrow. Same time. We have to go through the part of the Gardens I missed before you came along."

He showed up much earlier than the day before and he smiled as he found her there, waiting. Perhaps, she was just as eager to spend another day with him as he was with her. "Beth." He kept his deep voice soft, so as not to startle her, and she turned to him with a smile that nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Brendon Finnegan." She said, her voice surprised, "I thought I scared you off." Her words were joking, but he saw her shoulders relax as he took her arm. She was pleased she hadn't scared him off.

"You'll have ta do more 'en bite my lip to scare me off." He murmured, for her ears alone.

He watched as a shiver crawled up her and her milky eyes hooded just a touch before she shook her head, "You're being much more brazen than yesterday." She informed him.

Brendon laughed, "I'm hardly the brazen one between us." He had never talked as much with anyone as he did with Beth, but she had a magic about her that pulled his thoughts from his mouth, as well as his laughter and a charm he wasn't aware he possessed. Or maybe she was the only one that could entice him to use it, because doing so sometimes brought a becoming blush to her cheeks or made her laugh and he was addicted to both reactions.

She joined in his laughter at his comment and squeezed his arm lightly, "Come, let's see what I missed yesterday." She paused, looking for a moment vulnerable, "I like the way you describe the world to me."

He wanted to say that he liked his world with her in it, but held his tongue. There would be a right time to say it, he would make sure of it. For now, he needed her trust. Then, and only then, he'd wait for the moment she didn't bite him when he kissed her.

Unless, of course, she liked that.

Brendon grinned as he pulled himself from the memories of the first two days they spent together and found himself in front of the stargazer lilies. Glancing around, he reached out and picked one before turning around and leaving the gardens. The lilies always reminded him of his pretty, wild woman. She wasn't for everyone, her attitude, brassy talk, and the cane she wielded kept most everyone at a distance. But, he loved her all the same. Always had, always would.

As he passed a second-hand shop, his eyes caught on an object that beckoned him in. He tucked the lily into his pocket and entered the store. The cane was nothing fancy, Beth didn't care for frivolous things anyway, but it was sturdy and elegant in a way that reminded him of her. It was sleek, black wood with a plated gold top. It looked like it had been used-and often-but well-loved and in good condition. He picked it up and handled it, hefting it in his hands and weighing the merit of buying it. A wedding gift for Beth because despite what she said, he had every intention of marrying her. Baby or no baby, it was always Beth for him. He just needed to come to terms with the idea, to decide if he was really ready for this and for the potential outcome of her resenting him. Even if she did end up resent him, at least she would be as his wife and not as some abandoned, scorned single mother.

His gaze left the cane and went to a small, stuffed animal horse. The corners of his mouth twitched, remembering times when he was a child, endlessly teased for his size. 'The Wall' they called him. "He's as big as a horse." They'd mutter in awe as he moved down the street. He heard it all.

Beth never said a thing about it. Only ever mentioned how she liked how much taller he was, how she liked that she felt protected around him. Not that she needed it, the little hedgehog of a woman could scare even the biggest of men. She even scared him on occasion.

Brendon reached out, as though something possessed him, and he grabbed the stuffed horse and the cane and tossed some coins to the man behind the counter. Suddenly, he felt as though he needed to get back to her. Felt it as urgently as his next breath.

Her face flashed before his eyes, when she told him she was pregnant. She looked like she was biting back her happiness, as if waiting to see if he was just as happy about the news before she let her excitement bleed out. It wasn't like Beth to play games. Well, not emotional games with him-she'd done her share of games when it came to the gang world. While she was clever, she was usually blunter and upfront about her feelings.

He felt a sick feeling creep over him. If she was excited about this, if he'd disappointed her when he left to go think, he needed to get back to her and show her that he was excited. That he wanted this tiny little babe more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. If she was worried about anything, he should be there to listen and help her through it. They were a team, after all.

The day was waning, the heat of the high, summer sun slightly abating with the dusk. She would be home by now, safely locked in her tower that was the top apartment above Keenan's bar. She hated that room, the six flights of stairs, 12 steps for each flight-skip the thirty-second step if she was coming home later than her father liked-she hated being kept like a pet of the gang and not seen as the strong woman she was. She hated everything about this place…because they didn't see her value like they should.

That, above everything else, was what she truly hated.

But, Bren saw her value. He just needed to prove it to her. He scaled the fire escape alongside the building. Barkers' men had been slacking on their Beth protection for years because of how often she yelled at them for it. They still pretended to do it, gave fake reports so Barkers wouldn't know they were all terrified of Beth beating them with her cane, but they hadn't actually hung around the fire escape for a long time.

Which was great for Bren. Lightly, he tapped on her window, though he knew she would have heard him the minute he began the climb, and she pushed back the curtains like she'd been waiting for him. "Nice of you to knock." She muttered, using her needles and claws because she was mad at him.

He reached out for her hand to give her the stuffed horse, but thought better of it, knowing she'd be pissed if he didn't ask, "Beth, please give me your hand."

Her head jerked up at his request, light, cloudy eyes widening, "In marriage?" She bit out, reaching out to feel his hand as though for a ring.

Brendon cursed, realizing his mistake in his wording and causing her to pause before reaching him, looking up at his general direction warily as he jammed one hand in his pocket, searching for the ring he always carried. "I didn't mean-I mean, I…" He cursed again, dropping the cane and stuffed horse on the ground to dig through both pockets, "I meant to but not like this…" He muttered, more to himself.

"Bren, speak clearly for gods' sake." Beth reprimanded, "Either you're proposing or not and if you are you're doing a god-awful job."

"It's awful because ya jumped ta conclusions, Beth." He bit back, irritation making his accent thicker as he realized that for once in the three years since he'd got the ring, it wasn't in his pocket, "And because I said the wrong words! I was going to propose but not here! Not tonight. I was waiting for our anniversary next month, do it at the Botanical Gardens where we met. But, as always ya went and got pushy and now I can't find the ring and all I have is this stupid cane and stuffed horse…" He trailed off, frustrated, all the muscles in his body sagging as he told her the details of a proposal that was now ruined. "It was supposed ta be perfect." He mumbled.

Beth had folded her arms as she listened, her face oddly blank until those last six words came out and then she dropped her arms to wrap them around him, "Oh, my dear, sweet Brendon." Her tone softened as it usually only did right before they were intimate, a low hum of sweet sounds that always lit his blood on fire. "You and I, we never needed perfection." She told him, bringing his head down so their lips could touch lightly and she nipped the bottom one before pulling back, "What we need is each other. That's all that matters to me."

He pressed his hand to her stomach, "You and our child." He told her, sincerely, "That's all that matters to me. I'm sorry I wasn't more supportive and thrilled earlier. It was a shock to me, I thought I'd been careful…" He trailed off, remembering one of their hotter, intimate moments about eight weeks ago when she'd done something new and surprising, sending him over the edge before he even knew he was so close.

Beth chuckled lowly, also recalling that instant, "Well, since I'm already pregnant…"

She slid her hand down his chest, lower, and he sucked in a breath but then stopped her hand. "Nope. Ya gotta wait, Beth. Because, tonight, we're leaving here for good and I'm going to insist that we're married by morning."

She pulled back, surprised, "You're not even going to ask me?" She inquired, a dangerous note in her words.

He felt a sly grin pull across his mouth as he leaned in to whisper, "Bethany Bailey, we both already know your answer."

Bethany shivered, leaning into him until he was all but holding her entire weight as she whispered back, "Brendon Finnegan you better ask me like a gentleman or I'll-"

"You'll what? Kill everyone I love?" He asked, pulling away from her and recalling her threat from the first day they met. "Because that would be you and that child inside of you. Don't make that threat, love. Marry me, please?"

A smile hovered on her lips, "Alright, I'll marry you as long as you get me out of here tonight."

"Done." He promised, moving to grab the rucksack she carried when she shopped and beginning to fill it, placing the stuffed animal horse in first before adding in her undergarments and clothes, only a few because he planned to buy her all new stuff, and then the things he knew she liked. Her khol eyeliner and rouge, the necklace that was her mother's, and the silver knuckles she always kept tucked in her corset. He placed her rosewood cane on her bed and handed her the new one he bought her, "This is your new cane." He murmured, watching her small hands explore the cool, gilded top, smoothing down over the sleek, black finish of the wood.

"This is the second best stick you ever gave me, Bren." She hummed the words, making him pause in his gathering to pass her a hot look that she couldn't see, but she shivered as though she felt it.

He let out a strangled, frustrated noise as he continued to pick up the things he knew she couldn't leave behind, "Just wait till we're out of here, woman." He groused at her, pinching her butt as he passed behind her to grab the money she kept hidden in the floorboard under her nightstand.

She chuckled and moved to the window, pushing it open and putting her head out, "Smells like rain. Hurry up, Finnegan, we've got a long night ahead of us if we're gonna get away from Barkers."

"I believe I got everything." He told her, closing the sack and tossing it over one shoulder, "Do you want me to carry you down the fire escape?"

Before she could reply, her face twisting up to look offended, disgusted, and pretty much answering his question when they both froze at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, "Bethany Abigail, you better be home." Barkers voice was rough, growling like a bear just woken from hibernation.

Beth swore, "Carry me." She ordered, reaching out for the rucksack, "And hurry."

Brendon let adrenaline and fear of being caught drive him to do the impossible; carry his pregnant girl down the metal fire escape as rain began to patter from the heavens, making the escape dangerous and slippery as her father found her room empty and called for his men to search for her.

But, he didn't look back. He barreled on, switching Beth to his back to climb down the final ladder and once he hit the streets, he didn't let her down. He ran with her on his back until they were blocks away, and once he knew they weren't being followed, he hailed them a carriage and made sure she was safely inside before giving the driver the address of the apartment he'd secured not too long ago when he knew he was going to be proposing to her. One he'd put in a fake name that would hide her from her father and any of his goons.

"Are you cold?" He asked, as the carriage headed away from the Bronx.

Beth pulled his arm around her shoulders and snuggled close, "No, I'm hot from that exhilarating escape. I can't believe I'm free of him." She sighed, "Now, we just have to plan how we'll take it over."

"Let's give it a couple weeks, for your father to cool down." He murmured. He wasn't surprised, he knew she wasn't giving up the gang so easily. He didn't really expect her to, but he didn't have time to think about that. "If we're patient, I'm sure an opportunity will come up."

He was more focused on marrying her than taking over the gang, but his words would prove to be true when Carlos Fuentes would find them two weeks later with news that the son of right-hand man Johnny Knight was alive and in love with Brendon's sister-who'd been kidnapped by Barkers. Tommy Knight would be the key Beth needed to take the gang from her father and secure her leadership.


	6. Carlos and Sophie's Wedding Part I

**Benjamin Hotel Chronicles**

 **Carlos and Sophie Wedding Part I**

* * *

How to Love Someone Who is Broken

 _Gently, lay your hands on their soul like a whisper_

 _And find the places in which they are broken._

 _Then love them until these fractured places_

 _Become crevices, and the crevices become_

 _Thin, white scars that they only just barely remember._

-Nikita Gill

* * *

 **November 1** **st** **, 1907 (quick a/n: no sex in this chapter, even though they do share a few steamy moments!)**

Sophie looked up from her book as Carlos pulled out the washtub, taking a moment to admire his muscles flexing under his shirt. He'd been in the kitchen, banging around pots for a half an hour and she'd been ignoring it successfully until now. Now, she stared curiously at him as he straightened up and looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the oil lamp as he appraised her silently for a moment, looking devastating with his top three buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up.

"Are you suggesting I smell, Carlos?" She teased lightly, dog earing the page she was on and closing the book.

He shook his head slightly, a lock of his obsidian hair falling onto his forehead where he flicked it away, "No, _querida_. I just wanted to do something for you."

Sophie felt her insides melt at his words and she scrambled to stand and cross the room to wrap her arms around her wicked, remorseful Spaniard. "You do too much for me, my love." She murmured, brushing her lips lightly against his.

His eyes hooded as he settled his arms around her, gazing at her with his eyes that contrasted sharply with his olive-toned face. She brushed her hand along his cheek, feeling the dark whiskers that were beginning to come in as he leaned his face into her palm, "It's never too much. It's never enough compared to what you've given me."

It was the other way around, she knew, but she'd gotten tired of arguing with him about who saved whom. "I adore your sweet words, love, but my curiosity wants to know what you're up to." He was always so serious, her Carlos, so she tried gentle humor to bring a smile to his impossibly sexy mouth.

Tilting his head, he leaned down to whisper soft words into her ear, causing goose pimples to break out along her skin as his voice got husky and impossibly low, his breath on her ear sending a shiver to the center of her being, "Undress, _Sophia_."

Her eyes closed as pleasure swept over her, loving the way he talked to her, treasured her. She opened her eyes so she could meet the gaze that was as steady as the man in front of her and slowly she began to unbutton her blouse, her fingers making quick work of her clothes as anticipation pooled in her belly.

He stepped back, giving her space and watching her with half-lidded eyes, the heat of his gaze sending a red flush over her skin as she slipped her skirt down and was left in nothing but her chemise. It was inappropriate for a young lady not to wear a corset, but since Sophie was already an unwed young woman living with a dangerous man, she tended to shirk convention. Plus, the corset was downright suffocating and she couldn't stand the restrained feeling. She needed freedom and it was a bonus that Carlos loved how quickly he could undress her.

She grinned as she shed the remaining clothes, feeling wanted and seductive. Stepping towards him, she reached out for him but he surprised her by sidestepping her touch. He tsked at her, " _No, no_." He murmured, his accent thicker with the desire that was alight in his eyes, " _Sophia_ , you don't get to touch. I get to touch."

Her lips immediately drew into a pout, not liking this direction of events. "That's not fair."

Carlos chuckled, "Stay here. I'm going to bring the water in and bathe you."

She folded her arms across her chest, the chilliness of the apartment getting to her. It was November, after all. "I don't need bathed, I'm not a child." She told him, not really understanding what had gotten into him. They should be going to bed early; they were getting married tomorrow and they were supposed to be there early, before church services started.

" _Querida_." He said, stepping closer to her, "Let me do this for you? I promise you'll enjoy it."

She sighed, relenting to his earnestness, and watched as he hurried to the kitchen to grab the water he must have been heating up while she read. He set them down next to the washtub and then hurried back for something else. Sophie moved to pick one up, to begin pouring the water in, but he called out, "No, _Sophia_. Let me do everything. Don't lift a finger." Followed by a strange ' _pop_ ' noise.

This time, she let out a frustrated sigh, "I'm getting cold." She muttered as he brought in a glass and a bottle of champagne that was still smoking a bit from the pop of the cork.

"This will warm you." He replied, pouring the champagne into the glass and handing it to her. The rose color of it sparkled in the crystal glass as she reached out to take it from him.

She'd never had champagne before, but she liked the bubbles that tickled her upper lip as she took a tentative sip. It was sweet, bubbly, and it did send a shot of warmth through her despite the fact that it was chilled. "Oh my." She said, looking up at Carlos, "Why don't we have champagne more?"

He grinned, setting the bottle down so he could begin filling the tub, "Champagne is for toasts, for celebration. I figured we should celebrate tonight, together, before we celebrate with witnesses tomorrow."

She laughed, "Friends, Carlos. They're our friends."

He paused to look up at her as he dumped a second pot of hot water in the tub, that stubborn lock falling across his forehead once more, "Right. Friends." He looked vulnerable for a second and she couldn't stop her hand from reaching out to touch his cheek. It had taken a lot for her to convince him to give the Benjamin men a chance to become his friends. He was so used to being on the outside of everything, peering in, but Sophie couldn't live like that. After their reconciliation in the summer, she'd started inviting Race, Clara, Jack, and Hazel over for dinner, who in turned began to invite her and Carlos into the fold of friends on Sunday and Monday night dinners. Slowly, Race forgave Carlos for the past, for what happened to Snipeshooter, and while Carlos was still treated a tad wearily-how he liked it, she was sure-it had given her a chance to make her own friends.

It was really Eli who'd helped Sophie. After she moved back home, Carlos told her he wanted to invite Eli and his family over for dinner, to make up for his drunken blunders the night they'd broken up, and to introduce her to one of the few men he considered a true friend. They were only in town for another ten days and Sophie was excited to meet them.

Rosie had fallen asleep on Sophie after dinner, the two of them together on the couch while JoAnna and Carlos reminisced about his mother in the kitchen. Eli wandered over to her, his bright, blue eyes softening as they alighted on Rosie fast asleep. The adoration for the little girl so endearing on such a big man, Sophie decided she liked him very much. She'd met her share of large brutes in Chicago, who didn't hesitate to use their strength to hurt those smaller than them, that it was a nice surprise to meet Eli. A gentle giant of a man, who spoke soft, stuttered words and was more compassionate than all the men of Chicago.

"I ssseee wwwhy he loves yyyyou…" He murmured, crouching down beside the couch so she could hear his whispered words.

She tilted her head at him, inquiringly, "Because kids like me?" She teased, her eyes falling to the little girl and she felt a touch of envy. She always knew she wanted to be a mother, but she wasn't around many children besides Hazel. Didn't know if she was any good with them, thought Hazel was a fluke because the little girl didn't have many female role models.

She imagined her and Carlos' kids. Little boys that looked like their father, running around being hellions. Imagined Carlos giving them piggy back rides and cleaning skinned knees, and teaching them how to throw a punch. She smiled to herself before she realized Eli was watching her carefully, the way Carlos watched people, and she felt like he knew the direction her thoughts turned.

"He nnnneeds a lit-tle mmmore light. He's llllived in the sssshadows too long."

She felt the corner of her mouth tilt up in a grim half-smile, "I know. I'm trying. I don't know many people here besides Jack. He barely tolerates him because that's who I stayed with when we got into that big fight." She shook her head, frustrated, "He just doesn't play well with others."

Eli smiled bashfully, "Dddon't I kkkknow it."

They both froze as Rosie shifted in Sophie's arms, mumbling incoherently and settling down with her head on the blonde woman's shoulder, face buried in her hair. "I don't know how you let her out of your sight." Sophie told Eli in a low whisper, her heart aching at the thought of any harm befalling the child.

"A-ask Jo. I dddon't." He grinned, his gemstone-like eyes on his little girl for a moment before he met Sophie's eyes once more, "I t-ttthink the bbbest wwway to g-get to Llllos is tttthrough R-race."

She winced, knowing Race was kind of a sore spot for Carlos, too, given her old feelings for the Italian. "You think?" She asked, to which he nodded, "Well, maybe. I hope so. Sometimes I feel like he looks at Race and sees me crying over him." She dipped her head in embarrassment, "We met in Chicago, when Race went to retrieve Jack. I cried about him being married. It was silly."

"Nnno. It's nnnot." Eli interjected, shaking his head.

She shrugged her free shoulder, "Perhaps not. Race kind of accidentally brought us together. I like him for that. But, I told Carlos is was nothing more than infatuation. He _knows_ it's nothing more."

"Invvvvite Rrrrace and C-c-.." He paused, always frustrated with that 'ka' syllable, "Llllara ovvvver. Tttttell Llllos he ssssshouldn't llllock y-yyou up."

Eli's wise words gave Sophie food for thought, and the confidence to confront Carlos. All this time she'd been living with him, he'd kept her to himself. It wasn't done intentionally, she knew, but as someone with very few friends, he didn't realize what harm he'd done keeping her cooped up in the apartment. She wasn't like Carlos, she needed people, needed women she could trust and joke with, friends she could rely on if things got a little rough. Eli was right, she couldn't be locked up, so the next day she told the brooding Spaniard she was inviting friends over. Clara and Race.

To which he'd grudgingly agreed to. She hadn't realized before the level of persuasion she held over him and since then, she'd tested it. Dragging him to the dinners, having Hazel stay over a few times, and even Clara over one night when Race was working a night shift and she was upset over her miscarriage. He'd come home from work that night to find both of them crying, his face paling considerably before he tried to awkwardly cheer them both up by procuring a box of chocolates made by Vivian that he'd bought but hadn't yet given to Sophie.

"Get in before it gets cold, _Chiquita._ " He murmured in her ear, pulling her from memories of the last few months and she was surprised to see he was standing up, right by her and peering down at her with an eagerness that surprised her.

She handed him her glass and took his free hand, dipping a toe in to check the temperature. It was hot, but not scalding. It was perfect. Slowly, she slid in, Carlos steadying her with his hand, and once she was settled, he put her glass of champagne back in her hand and moved to grab the wash cloth and mint soap she favored. "Carlos?" She asked, sipping her delicious, bubbly drink and beginning to relax as he turned back to her. He dipped the cloth into the water and then lathered the soap bar onto, looking at her expectantly, "Do you want children?"

This long together and they'd never brought up children, she hoped he wouldn't be upset with her. She found it hard to ask such a question, unsure because he'd never shown much affection to Hazel or Mush and Viv's little boy. "Oh, _s_ _í_ , _querida_. A whole army of them." He told her, running the wash cloth over her arm and gathering her blonde hair so he could clean her shoulders and back. Her eyes fluttered shut when he couldn't help but lay a few, soft kisses along her neck, knowing it was one of her favorite spots.

"An army?" She exclaimed, dramatically, smiling as he grinned and kept dutifully cleaning her. The aroma of the fresh bite of mint soap filled the room and she inhaled it mixed with Carlos' spicy musk as he leaned over her.

He moved down, sweeping the cloth over her breasts before continuing farther south. The warmth of the water, his soft touch, and the champagne made her close her eyes and moan softly as she leaned back and dipped her hair into the water. She raised her head as Carlos moved down one leg and back up the other, "A whole bunch of _ni_ _ñ_ _os_." He mumbled, still smiling ever so slightly as he glanced over at her, "With your eyes and smile."

She sighed as he rung out the wash cloth and placed it on the side of the washtub, "I want children, too. I don't know about a whole army of them, though."

He paused, considering her, before he dipped his hand in the water and stroked her center, causing her to gasp and nearly drop her glass. "Careful." He told her, wrapping his free hand around the one holding the glass, "Have another sip." His light encouragement made her tingly as did the hand between her legs.

Slowly, she lifted the glass to her lips, sipping and holding the bubbles in her mouth before swallowing. That gave her an idea and she took another sip and leaned up to kiss him, letting him taste the champagne on her lips. He groaned against her lips before flicking the little part of her that had her gasping, her mouth opening so he could take full advantage, swirling his tongue along her mouth.

Carlos pulled away, looking like he was grappling for some self-control though she couldn't say why, "Carlos." She whispered, her voice full of need.

"Sophie." He replied, frustrated, "I'm trying to bathe you. Don't distract me. Now, let me wash your hair, _mi amor_."

Grumpily, she sat up so he could reach all of her long, blonde hair but the grumpiness faded as he massaged her head with the soap and ran his fingers through her hair. She all but purred in contentment, eyes closing as she leisurely sipped her champagne until her glass was empty. She set the glass beside the tub and sighed as he rinsed her hair with warm water.

Once he was satisfied she was clean, he gently massaged her shoulders before going to fetch a towel. They didn't speak in this time, the silence comforting without words to fill it, their touches and gaze enough communication. She stood as he came back and he wrapped her up in the towel, smoothing it over her skin to dry her before picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom.

So relaxed from the bath and the champagne, she felt her eyelids grow heavy and was surprised when he didn't crawl in beside her. He slid her under the blankets, tucking the quilt around her and she reached out to catch his hand, "Where are you going?" She asked sleepily.

He leaned down to rub his nose lightly against hers, just barely brushing his lips against hers before replying, "I'm going to go bathe now, _querida_."

"Oh." The disappointment brought out a chuckle from him and she scowled, "What? I can't promise I'll be awake when you're done."

Carlos smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead, "That's alright, I wanted to take care of you before myself. _Dulces sue_ _ñ_ _os_." _Sweet dreams_. She felt her eyelids flutter shut and she drifted off, too relaxed to keep them open any longer.

The bed dipping with his weight woke her up and she immediately snuggled up against him, inhaling his scent and reveling in the feel of his skin against hers. He kissed her softly, "Children with your eyes and smile." He murmured, "Seven, no, nine. All little girls."

She chuckled at his whisperings, "I want a boy or two." She told him sleepily.

"Alright. Two of each and then we'll discuss more."

"I love you."

" _Te amo mas que todo_." _I love you more than everything,_ he purred into her ear and she fell asleep to his soft, Spanish words, wrapped up in his strong arms and feeling more relaxed than she'd ever felt before.


End file.
